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THE STEWARD; 

OR, 

7 L 
FASHION AND FEELING: 

IN FIVE ACTS, 

(FOUNDED UPON THE DESERTED DAUGHTER,) 

AS PERFORMED AT THE 

THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN, 

SEPTEMBER 15th, 1819. 



Htmfccm: 

Printed by W. Hughes, Maiden Lane, Covent Garden, 
FOR JOHN LOWNDES, 25, BOW STREET. 



1819. 
Price Three Shillings. 






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FOR THAT 

TASTE AND SPIRIT 

WHICH HAS MADE COVENT GARDEN THEATRE ONE OF 
THE MOST SPLENDID TEMPLES OF THE 

DRAMATIC MUSE. 

FOR THAT 

LIBERALITY TO AUTHORS 

Which leaves the Dearth of Dramatic Talent no Apology from 
the Want of Encouragement ; 

AND FOR HIS 

Kind Attention and Suggestions during the Production of the 
present Play; 

THE STEWARD 

IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED TO 

HENRY HARRIS, ESQ. 



PREFACE. 



-»e^«- 



It has been with great diffidence that I have ventured to alter 
any production of so powerful a pen as that of Mr. Holcroft; 
and one of my chief inducements in its publication is, that I 
might possess an opportunity of stating to my Readers my 
reasons as my apology. 

It had long been the regret of many Lovers of the Drama, that 
a Play, possessed of so much merit as the Deserted Daughter, 
which had itself been founded on Cumberland's Fashionable 
Lover, should lay unacted and neglected, from the introduction 
of characters and incidents, which, however they might strengthen 
the interest of the piece, were in some measure revolting to 
delicacy and good feeling. For, whatever additional interest may 
be gained by the idea, that a parent is in danger of sacrificing his 
own child to infamy ; it is yet difficult to separate this additional 
excitation of feeling from disgust ; and more particularly as in 
this instance, the parent was not only the cause of his daughter's 
having been placed in the power of a woman, infamous enough to 
make a traffic of her virtue ; but is actually one of the persons to 
whom she offers the sacrifice of that virtue for pecuniary recom- 
pence. 

It was the Poet's intention to depict in the strongest man- 
ner the evils of disowning a child; and the distressful situa- 
tion of an object thus deserted ; and the incidents of the play, as 
they originally stood, are doubtless the most dreadful that could 
have arisen from such a circumstance. Thus far his intention 



VI 



succeeded ; but the question is, whether the feelings excited by 
seeing a young and innocent girl placed in such a situation, and 
subjected to the addresses of her own parent; did not more than 
counterbalance any pleasure arising from that additional interest 
in her fate, created by means that would not bear analization 
without sensations of terror and disgust. 

The passions of human nature are not only the materials from, 
which the Dramatic Poet must frame his composition ; but they 
are also those upon which he must work in the effects of his pro- 
duction on an audience. It is his province to excite the interests 
and feelings of the Spectators to the greatest possible degree; and 
whether those interests and feelings are relaxed into sympathy, at 
suffering virtue, or nerved to indignation at triumphant villany ; 
the object of the Poet is equally obtained, and he establishes his 
right to dramatic celebrity — But there are certain chords of the 
human mind which cannot be touched witnout creating discord — 
and though the art of the Poet may reach them, the heart 
shrinks from their vibration. So difficult is it in an advanced, 
state of society for the dramatic Poet to learn precisely the 
Quid deceat, quid non; quo virtus; quo ferat error. 
To exclude this dangerous interest ; and to extract these re- 
volting situations from the Deserted Daughter, was the first object ; 
and to accomplish this I have made Item, instead of her father, 
the cause of Joanna's danger from the libertinism, of Lennox, and 
have altered the character and mansion of the infamous Mrs. 
Enfield into that of one of Item's dependents. By making a 
marriage with her, of consequence to the Steward's avaricious 
schemes, I have accounted for his pursuit of her, and without, 1 
trust, decreasing the interest that is excited in her fate. This 
alteration necessarily obliged me to re- write and re-model a great 
portion of the Comedy, and I felt as I proceeded, that much sym- 
pathy in the misfortunes of Mordent, and in the distress of 
Joanna, was lost from the turbulent and illnatured pettishness of 
the one, and the physiognomical rudeness of the other; for 



• Vll 

nothing can be more subversive of good manners, or deduct more 
from the interest excited by the misfortune of a young and hand- 
some girl, than to hear her at first sight begin to analize the ex- 
pression of a gentleman's features, and tell him he has the eye of 
a libertine and the mouth of a deceiver. I have therefore at- 
tempted to soften the asperity of Mordent's character throughout, 
and have re-written that of Joanna up to the 5th Act. I changed 
the character of Donald into that of Jonathan Winter, a York- 
shireman, because I was informed, that in spite of the excellence 
of the original performance of that part, its breadth of dialect 
rendered it nearly unintelligible. 

The alterationof Lady Anne Mordent from a sentimental and 
submissive wife, to a woman of fashion, and a participator in her 
husband's extravagance, was subsequently adopted, from an inge- 
nious suggestion that it would add spirit to the play, and still 
more tend to relieve the character of Mordent, both of which 
objects are, I think, attained by it — altho' it naturally led to the 
alteration of a great portion of the character, or rather the 
dialogue of Mrs. Sarsnet. 

The character of Item has been altered and added to consi- 
derably ; and the Account Book, the loss of which betrays the 
perfidy of the Steward, and produces such a powerful situation in 
the original play, has been made of more consequence by its 
introduction into the first Act, as the audience were before totally 
unacquainted with the existence of such a document, and of 
course quite unprepared for the consequences of its loss. 

Such are the principal alterations that have been made in the 
play ; and they have been made with a view of still pointing out 
the dangers of such errors as those of Mordent, and of holding 
up the villany of a perfidious confidential servant, like Item, to 
execration, both of which are the main objects of the original. 

In the performance of this task, I should be unjust not to ac- 
knowledge how greatly indebted I have been to the suggestions of 



Vlll 



Mr. Henry Harris, and to thajpk him for that attention to the play 
which has made it what it is. 

Having thus preserved the original story complete, however I 
may have differed in its developement, I trust I shall be forgiven 
for alterations, which have no other view than to adapt to the 
feelings of a modern audience, an interesting play, of one of the 
most deservedly successful and popular writers of the age. 



Where every department was so excellent, it would be invidious 
to make distinction; I must therefore thank the whole of the 
Performers for those exertions to which I am so infinitely indebted 
for the success of THE STEWARD. 



PROLOGUE. 



When birds new fledg'd first quit their natives trees. 
And spread their tender pinions to the breeze ; 
The parent win'r supports them in their flight, 
And guides them safely to the destin'd height. 
So, our young Bard, — unpractis'd and unknown, 
Afraid to brave the Drama's realms alone,— 
Afraid, unhelp'd, to meet the critic sneer, 
That stops so many in the same career ; 
From Holcroft's nervous wing has pluck'd to-night, 
The strength he trusts to, in his daring flight ! 

'Twas thus the son of Deedalus essay'd 
To stem the winds on wings another made, 
And safely through the fields of aether flew; 
But, when Apollo's realms appear'd in view, 
His mad ambition led the hero on, 
In vain attempt, to reach his dazzling throne ; 
But soon his pinions droop'd beneath the glow, 
Which hurl'd him headlong to the depths below. 
And our poor Bard an object here hath view'd, 
As bright as that which Icarus pursued.; 
But ah, he trusts your hands will deign to teacfi, 
It is not quite so far beyond his reach. 
The sun he aims at, shines in your applause, 
Your smiles obtain d — our Poet gains his cause. 
And shelter'd thus by a long-established name, 
Plants the first flower in his wreath of fame. 



EPILOGUE. 

My gracious! was ever any thing so shocking?— 

Just half undrest — and going home— provoking— 

Thus to be call'd and hurried from my room, 

And then sent here, to learn our Poet's doom, 

And be beset— by Author— Prompter-— all agog 

That I, forsooth, should speak th£ Epilogue, 

And praise the Play— I thought I'd done enough, 

To act, and speak their sentimental stuff. 

" So, bless me, Mister Bard," said I — " you see 

I'm half undrest"— " Quite in the mode," said he. 

" Why, Sir," said I—" a line or two— or so— 

But then, I've dofF'd my feathers, and you know"— 

" I do," the Author cries—" that woman's chiefest boast. 

Is, unadorn'd, to be adorn'd the most 

So, speak my Epilogue,"— and then the saucy chap 

Said—" that you might place a feather in my cap." 

Thus said our Bard— and Bards have winning ways, 

When round their brows they wish to twine the bays ; 

Or when the magic of their flattering art, 

Would twine themselves round foolish woman's heart. 

A Bard— -but hold— perhaps you do not know it, 

That our poor Bard to-night's but half a Poet : 

He found a sad Deserted Daughter on the shelf, 

And took the pretty creature to himself, 

You must not think the action worthy blame, 

Since, where's the man that would not do the same? 

But whole or half, the truth I still must tell, 

I do not think he's used me quite so well ; 

Thus of the pride of fashionable life, 

At last to make a dull domestic wife, 

Like those dear sober souls who never swerve, 

But Pickles make, their husbands to preserve. 

You'll say, 'tis not quite fair, that I, who came 

To plead the Poet's cause, should stop to blame— 



XI 

But yet, no matter— I .told them they were wrong, 
To trust a woman's never-ceasing tongue.— 
So to our theme— yon Critic seems to say- - 
Why has the Poet altered thus the Play ? 
To which I answer, exactly as the case is— 
That the old Bard made ladies hide their faces, ' 
By laying all his scenes in naughty places. 
If to our Poet's reasons still the Critic deaf is, ] 
He begs he'll buy the Play, and read his Preface. 
Now to my message—Does your sanction give 
Permission for our Comedy to live? — > 
If those kind hands support the Poet's cause, 
And our poor efforts merit your applause, 
Your smiles to-night, in Gratitude's account, 
Will add one Item to the great amount. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Mordent, Mr. Macready. 

Cheveril, Mr. Jones. 

Lennox, Mr. Conner. ( 

Item, Mr. W. Farren. 

Grime, Mr. Blanchard. 

Clement, ......... Mr. Abbott, 

Jonathan Winter, ...... Mr. Emery. 

Lady Anne, . Mrs. Davison. 

Joanna, . . . Miss Foote. 

Mrs. Sarsnet, Mrs. Gibbs. 

Mrs. Penfold, 3V|iss Green. 

Betty, Mrs. Sexton. 



THE STEWARD. 

ACT I. 

SCENE I. The House of Mr. Mordent. 

Mordent and Jonathan Winter, (in anger.) 

Wint. Well, zur— It doan't signify nothing argufying the 
topic. Ize tell ye my mind! Discharge me, an you wull; 
I an't been more than thirty years in the family, 'tis true ; 
but that's long enow to gain a settlement i' thirty parishes, 
100* not mayhap in one heart ; — and if ye wull be guilty of 
foul deeds 

Mor. {Looking anxiously round.) Will you speak in a 
lower key ? Recollect, Jonathan, recollect the consequences 
of discovery. 

Wint. I tell ye what will be the consequences, if I doan't 
discover her, Ize advertize for her i'the public papers — 
aye, I wull. So now, mak' up your mind to ha' your name 
imprinted at full length. 

Mor. {Terrified.) Print my name ! 

Wint. My name's not Winter, if I doan't. 

Mor. Nay, nay, pray speak lower. Recollect, my wife 
is within hearing. — The girl is safe, no doubt. You know, 
I did not, I could not abandon her. 

Wint. 1 doan't know what great people may mean by 
abandon. But, ye wad nae acknowledge her, wad nae see 
her — and wad ye ha' the heart now to expose her to — 
(holding up his hands in terror,) 



Mor. What? 

Wint . Tramp the streets I or, what is as bad, to the arts 
and wiles of old Item. 

Mor. The arts of Item I What do ye mean ? 

Wint. What do I mane? Why, I mane, that my mind 
misgi's me, and if I see clear, some o'his devildom schemes 
do hang on the lass — that's all. 

Mor. Oh, impossible ! impossible! 

Wint. I tell ye, 'tis possible. And why should you 
desart her, forsooth ? Because she is what 'em calls a 
natural child ! Now, in my mind, to beget children, and 
then turn them adrift, to beg, steal, or starve, makes a father 
a damn'd deal more unnatural than the child! — [ doan't 
know what you may think, but that's my humble opinion. 

Mor. Would you tell all the family ? Expose me to my 
wife ? 

Wint. Ize expose ye tull the whole world, if I doan't find 
her — Though, the Lord knows, it woan't be much the 
better for her, if I do, for it strikes me vary strongly, ye are 
diced, and drabbed, and squandered, and mortgaged, till ye 
woan't scarce ha' change for a thin sixpence for yoursel ! 

Mor. This is too much — you forget your station. 
Wint. Forget my station \ No, no, Maister Mordent, 
'tisn't Winter that forgets his station, when he warns you 
against the devildoms, as 1 call them, of that Belzebub 
Steward ! — But, tak' warning ! I ha' toud ye long ago, and 
I tell ye again, he ain't a bit better nor a rascal. 

Mor. 'Tis false — you mistake him, I tell you ! If the 
earth hold an honest man, Mr. Item is he. In all my diffi- 
culties, where have I found assistance, but from Item ? 

Wint. Yes — He pretends to borrow the cash for ye, 
which he lends himsel ; and your wealthy possessions will 
soon be all his own. 

Mor. Nay, nay ; has he not ever dissuaded me, even in 
your presence, from the ruinous expedients which my neces- 
sities have obliged me to adopt ? 

Wint. Yes ; he ha' led ye to a precipice, which he bags 



ye woan't leap, while at the same time, he pushes you down 
headlong. 

Mor. I say, 'tis false ! His truth, integrity, and zeal, are 
unexampled. 

Wint. Mercy on us, ye're bewitched ! 

Mor. Winter, you drive me mad ! What a den of misery 
is this world ! Swarming with one set of fiends, that raise 
the whirlwind of the passions ; and with another, that beset 
and tantalize the bewildered wretch, for having been over- 
taken by the storm. 

Wint. Poor Joanna! what can ha' become on her? But 
now, remember, if I doan't find her, Ize keep my word. 

Mor. As to Joanna, wait patiently. She's safe ! — I have 
done a violence to my own feelings as a father, in depriving 
her of the right of a child. But have I not fifty times 
descended to explanation, and shewn you, that I must not, 
cannot own her ? 

Wint. Dare not, you mane. Ah, maister, maister, ye 
bogle at shadows. 

Mor. Shadows ! Winter, you know not what you say. 
The public clamour and disgrace attached to the discovery ; 
the well-merited reproaches of Lady Anne, for the long 
concealment of such a circumstance; the resentment of her 
imperious family — Are these shadows ? 

Enter Mrs. Sarsnet. 

Mrs. S. What is it you are pleased to be talking, pray, 
about my lady, Mr. Yorkshireman ? 

Wint. Troth! I ha'n't a word to say against her, Mrs. 
Cockney. 

Mrs. S. Against her! No, sir, my lady may defy her 
worst enemies, though there are folks who ought to adore 
the very ground she treads upon, that use her like a Turk. 

Mor. How now, Sarsnet? Did your mistress bid you 
behave with impertinence ? 

Mrs. S. She, indeed ! no, no, your example and com- 



'mauds have made her almost as great a rake as yourself; yet 
she'd never respect any thing of that kind, if I didn't put it 
into her head. She bid me always behave with affability 
and decorum : and so I would, if I could. But, it would 
provoke an angel ! 

Mor. And what is it your wisdom thinks so provoking? 
Mrs. S. To see a sweet lady, that was made to live always 
in a family way, driven out for to seek for pleasures in routs 
and nonsense, and when at home, to see her laugh, when 
she means for to cry ; then, when some folks are in sight, 
pretend to smile, aud be all assignation and contentment, 
when, all the while, I know, her poor heart is ready to 
break. 

Mor. Then she complains to you ? 

Mrs. S. I said no such thing, sir. No. she complains to 
no Christian soul, more's the shame ! I wish some folks had 
a little of my spirit; other folks, mayhap, mut find the 
difference. 

Wint. Spirit! Ecod, you needn't tell us o'that, Mrs. 
Sarsnet. 

Mrs. S. A poor, weak woman, who can only take her 
own part by crying and fainting. 

Wint. Crying and fainting ! Come, come, Mrs. Sarsnet, 
there are some poor, weak women, that ha' got tongues, 
and nails, you know. 

Mrs. S. Have they, Mr. Snapshort ? Why, then, if I had 
you for a husband, mayhap I would go for' to let you see 
that I could use them. 

Wint. I dare for to say as how you would. The devil 
doubt you. 

Mrs. S. It's a shame, Mr. Winter, for you to be getting 
into corners, and to be a whispering, and a peering, and a 
plotting, to my lady's dishonour. 

Wint. ( Angry.) I plotting ! Come, now, you'd bettej 
hold your tongue, Mrs. Sarsnet. 
Mor. Silence with you both ! 

Mrs. S. You ought to be quite shameful of making your- 
self a skip-jack go-between. 



Wint. A skip-jack ! Oh, 'tis very well, Mrs. Sarsnet. 
You hear, sir, the thanks I get ; ye hear, I am a go-between. 

Mrs. S. Yes, yes ; we know that very well, Mr. Winter. 

Wint. But I'm not sic a go-between as ye, Mrs. Mala- 
pert, may think me. No, no, I ha' been a trust-worthy 
caterer to the family ; (to Mordent) a slave to your and 
your lady's routs, and your supperings, and your dinnerings ! 
Ye may ha' made me your purveyor, but dam' me if any 
mon ever yet made Jonathan Winter his pander ! 

Mor. Begone ! See if Mr. Item is returned. 

Mrs. S. Ah, there's another. 

Wint. Skip-jack! Go-between! Forsooth. Ecod, if 
you war Mrs. Winter, I'd teach ye to keep a civil tongue in 
your teeth, ecod, I would. [Exit. 

Mor. Did your lady, I say, instruct y6u to behave with 
this insolence ? 

Mrs. S. You know very well, sir, that my lady is the most 
imprudent of wives ; and would have been better than the 
best, if you had but let her have had her own way. She sent 
me on a civil message, and bid me speak with properiety : 
and so, if speaking one's mind, and telling the truth, be a 
fault, its all my own. 

Mor. I'll put an end to this. 

Mrs. S. Oh, to be sure : you may tell my lady, and get 
me turned away, if you please ; because, I know very well, 
if you bid her, she will do it. 

Mor. True; she has ever met my most capricious wishes 
with compliance, nay, in the instance of fashionable extra- 
vagance to which I urged her, from my foolish vanity, has 
outstripped them, and I — oh, Prometheus and his Vulture 
is no fable ! (aside.) 

Mrs. S. Yes, yes ; I kuow she will turn me away ; but as 
it is all for pure love of my lady, I'm sure the Earl of Old- 
crest, her father, will give me a situation. He knows, may- 
hap, more than you may go for to think ; so does the Viscount, 
her brother too; her cousin, Lady Mary, and her uncle, the 
Bishop; and every body is not obliged to be so blind, and sc 



good tempered, and so replying as my lady, never to answer 
a word, indeed, as she never does. 

Mor. Ah ! what is it they know? (aside) Can Winter 
have betrayed me ? 

Mrs. S. That's more than I can say ; but they have all 
been here, and my lady desires to speak with you. 

Mor. (aside) Indeed ! Tell her I have no leisure — that I 
am particularly engaged, (aside) I dare not see her ! 

Mrs. S. Ha! I told my lady so before I came.* 

Mor. Begone ! inform your lady, that I will seek some 
other opportunity, (aside) To what a state of wretchedness 
must that heart be reduced, which trembles at meetiug the 
eye of her it loves ! Cursed infatuation ! to what hast thou 
driven me! [Exit. 

Mrs. S. I prognostified the answer! a good-for-nothing 
chap ! I know as well as any body what is becoming of a 
husband. He should love his wife dearly, by day and by 
night! he should wait upon her; and give her her own 
way ; and keep her from the cold, and the wet ; and pro- 
vide her with every thing comfortable; and if she happen 
to be in an ill humour, should coax her, and bear a little 
snubbing patiently. Humph! the fellows! what are they 
good for else I wonder! [Exit. 

SCENE II. 

The Steward's Room. 

Item, alone. 

Item. (Examining accounts, and putting away books.) 
Ha! ha! ha! 'tis well, very well! Nothing rejoices my 
heart so much as casting an account — when the balance is in 
my own favour! 1 feel my heart sparkle with delight, as it 
runs from units to tens, from tens to hundreds, and from 
hundreds to thousands, — when they're to be put on the right 
side of the ledger. 'Twill do ! the web is woven, the fly is 



in the midst of it, and every m6ment strengthens the toil, and 
involves him further in the labyrinth! One more deed signed, 
and the proud Mr. Mordent is in my power! 'till then I 
must still smooth my brow ; but once sure, once certain, 
Item's turn will come, and all his years of anxious labour 
shall be repaid ; and who can say it is not right, that wisdom 
should thus thrive upon folly? (putting books on table.) 
You may lie there — you all bear fair faces, that may be pe- 
rused by any one, and do not present one blot to make the 
most rigid inspector cavil at poor Item. But you, (putting 
one book in his bosom) who contain the true account of all 
my honest, and laborious gains, lay next my heart, that beats 
with pleasure, while it hugs you. Ah! I hear somebody on 
the stairs, (hides book quickly.) 

Enter Grime. 

Item, (eagerly.) My dear Grime, I am glad you are come. 
Well, is the deed prepared ? 

Grime. Ready for sealing. Mr. Mordent never examines 
what he signs ; he trusts all to you. 

Item. We cannot be too safe. But, this other affair? thi* 
Joanna ? What have you done ? Have you taken her to Mrs. 
PenfoldV 

Grime. Really, Mr. Item, she is so fine a creature, that, 
when I deceived her, I am not a true Christian if I did not 
feel such a twinge here. 

Item. There ! why, what have you got there more than 
any where else ? A twinge, indeed ! Curse your twinges ! 
Is she safe ? Are you sure Winter suspects nothing ? 

Grime. No, no, I took care of that, and have made cer- 
tain that she left no clue to her retreat. 

Item, (joy.) That is well ! that is well ! — 'twill do, 'twill 
do! And so, she's a fine creature? Item, you're a lucky 
dog! My scheme succeeds in every point! And I say. 
Grime, the girl's handsome, is she ? 

Grime, Handsome ! I can't say I'm a judge of beauty. 



8 

Item, Do her eyes sparkle; you old rogue ? 

Grime. Why, they do twinkle, to be sure ! 

Item. Has she roses, lilies, a fine neck, round arms ■ > 

Grime. Yes, yes ; roses in plenty ! But, I don't under- 
stand why Mr. Mordent wishes to put her out of the way. 

Item. I dare say you don't ; but I do. He has various 
tormentors; his wife, or rather, her proud relations, are 
among the chief; and he dreads they should come to the 
knowledge of this secret. But, his strongest terror, is, of 
being detected in having for years disowned a child, who, 
if now produced, would be his everlasting disgrace. 

Grime. Does he know that his daughter is now in the 
house of Mrs. Penfoid ? 

Item. Not a word. His plan, for the present, is to settle 
her in some profession ; for this, he will bestow a thousand 
pounds, which, ha! ha! ha! I am to expend. 

Grime, (significantly.) Or keep ! 

Item, (aside.) Plague ! I have said too much ! 

Grime. O, ho ! a thousand pounds ! (aside.) 

Item. That — that, my dear Grime, would be a paltry 
motive ! I have others, others of more consequence, 
Grime ! 

Grime, (aside.) I'll have my share! 

Item. Mr. Mordent has been all his life squandering, like 
a blockhead, what I have been prudently picking up. 

Grime.. And pretty pickings you have had, Mr. Item. 

Item, (exulting.) I have him in the toils'! Interest accu- 
mulating upon interest, and all in arrear ! I can foreclose 
upon him when I please, for all, except the Berkshire estate; 
and by this second mortgage, agreeably to the deed you have 
brought, equity of redemption will be forfeited, and that, as 
well as the rest, will then be mine ! 

Grime. If he had but signed and sealed ! 

Item. Which he shall do this very day ! 

Grime. Then, what have you to fear from Joanna ? 

Item. Much — very much — an action of recovery. 

Grime. How so ? she has no title — she is illegitimate. 



Item. No, no ; a lawful daughter, born in wedlock ; her 
mother poor, but virtuous, and died in child-bed. Fearful 
it should injure his second marriage, with Lady Anne, he 
never produced the infant, but told his man, Winter, it 
was a natural daughter, and by his intermission, secretly 
maintained, and had her educated : and because this Winter 
has got the fool's disease, pity — pity! ha! ha! ha! he loves 
the girl so much, that he has threatened to make Mordent 
own his daughter. 

Grime. To prevent which, he has agreed 

Item. That I should place her out of Winter's reach. 
But, he little thinks, I intend to make him own her 
myself. 

Grime. You ? 

Item. Yes, I ! to prevent her claims from affecting my 
earnings, I intend to vest the power of recovery in myself. 

Grime. As how ? 

Item. As how ? By marrying her, to be sure ! 

Grime. By marrying her ! You! Ha! ha! ha! 

Item. Yes, by marrying her ! (aside) What the devil does 
the fellow laugh at ? Yes, by marrying her, Grime ; by 
making her Mrs. Item! Aye, and I'll compel the proud 
Mr. Mordent, and Lady Anne, and her proud family, to own 
— aye, and court Mr. Item, as their relation, or, Mr. Item 
will know the reason why. 

Grime. Many her ! Well, well, 'tis a strange world! But 
now, Mr. Item, give me leave to say a word or two on my 
own affairs. 

Item. To be sure, my dear friend ! Speak, and spare not. 

Grime. There is a thousand pounds, you mentioned. 

Item, (aside.) Hem! 

Grime. Then, the premium on this mortgage ; in short, 
Mr. Item, I do all your business, stand in your shoes. 

Item. You are my right hand, the apple of my eye! 
(aside) a hypocritical rascal ! 

Grime. Ay, but- 



10 

Item. The dearest friend I have on earth ! (aside) I wish 
the earth covered him ! 

Grime. The division of profits 

Item. Don't mention it. Am I not your friend ? I shall 
not live for ever. 

Grime. No, nor I neither. Friendship 

Item. Don't think of it. You can't distrust me, the first, 
and best friend you ever had. 

Grime. Fine words. 

Item, (evading.) Yonder is my nephew! (calls) Cle- 
ment ! 

"Enter Clement. 

Ckm. Sir! 

Item. Fetch the title deeds of the Berkshire estate from 
my good friend Mr. Grimes. 

Grime. Well, but 

Item. Any time to-day. 

Clem. Very well, Sir. [Exit Clement, 

Grime* Once again, Mr. Item. 

Item. And, Clement! 

Grime. I say the division 

Item, (listens,) Hark ! I hear Mr. Mordent ! 

Grime, (aside.) It shall not pass off thus — I begin to 
know you. 

Item. I would not have you seen, just now, my dear 
Grime ! my kind friend ! some other opportunity ! Pray 
oblige me ! 

Grime. Well, well, (aside) The next time we meet, you 
shall know more of my mind. [Exit Grime. 

Item, (angry.) The rascal begins to grow troublesome ! 
Take care of the steps, good Mr. Grime ! I wish he'd break 
his neck ! [follows. 

Enter Mordent. 
Mor. What is life ? — a continual cloud ; pregnant with 



11 

mischief, malignity, disease, and death! Happiness? — an 
ignis fatuus. Pleasure? — a non-entity. Existence? — amis- 
fortune, a burden ! None but fools condescend to live. 
Men exert their whole faculties to torture one another. 
Animals are the prey of animals. Flowers bloom to be 
plucked and perish ! The very grass grows to be torn, and 
eaten ; trees to be mangled, sawed, rooted up, and burned. 
The whole is a system of exquisite misery, and I have my 
full proportion. Oh ! this girl ! why am I thus perturbed 
concerning her ? She can but be wretched, and wretched- 
ness is the certain fate of all ! 

Enter Item. 

Well, my good Mr. Item, this poor Joanna ! What have you 
done ? Can you secure her happiness ? Pshaw ! Can you 
lighten her misery ? I can think of nothing but her, tho' 
distraction is in every thought. 

Item. 'Tis a serious affair ; very serious. But I have 
managed the matter well ; the young lady shall be made 
happy ; I will take care of that. 

Mor. Turned adrift, rejected of all, no relation, no friend, 
never acknowledged, never! 

Item. My advice, you know, Sir, was at once boldly to 
produce her, as your daughter. No matter for the imper- 
tinent clamour and questions of who her mother was, and 
what became of her ; why the child was never owned ; where 
she had been concealed, and for what purposes? All these 
questions might be asked by your friends, and by those of 
Lady Anne 

Mor. Ay, ay, ay! The malignant sneers of friends, the 
cutting calumny of enemies, the reproaches of Lady Anne, 
the insults of her pompous proud family ! I'll try to think 
no more of it ! Then, this Berkshire mortgage ! 

Item. Ay, there again ! totally opposite to my advice. 

Mor. Can you shew me any other possible way of paying 
my debts ? 



12 

Item. The danger of signing it is extreme ! 

Mor. 'Tis ruin ! I feel 'tis utter ruin, and cannot but; 
hesitate. 

Item. Yet, young Cheveril, I own, has demands. 

Mor. Which must be paid. 

Item. Then, the outstanding bills — tradesmen are pro- 
vokingly insolent ! Threaten executions daily. 

Mor. Ay, ay ; they, like the rest, have their appointed 
office of torture. 

Item. Well, remember, I have given you fair warning. 

Mor. Certainly ! You do your part, and with the best in- 
tentions ; goad, and sting, and add your quantum to the sum 
of suffering ! The consistency of evil is amazing ! good and 
bad, all concur. Is the deed ready ? 

Item. I must first read it through. 

Mor. Do so. I leave it all to you. 

Item, (with quickness.) But that will not take ten minutes. 

Mor. I will be back presently. The gulf is before me, 
plunge I must, and to plunge blindfold will be to cheat the 
devil of some part of the pain. [Exit. 

Item, (following.) Nay, if you will not be warned, 'tis not 
my fault. [Exit. 



SCENE III. 
The Dressing Room, < 
Lady Anne and Mrs. Sarsnet, discovered. 

Lady A. Well, well, Sarsnet, you have said enough about 
refusing to come ; though, for the life of me, I can't see why 
he should thus avoid me. 

Mrs. S. Ah, but I can guess though. He's ashamed — 
he's ashamed of his neglects, and of his unpatrimonial and 
disconjugal behaviour. 

Lady A. Well, if any two people's follies ever kept each 
other in countenance, certainly those of my caro-sposo and 



13 

myself, ought to do it ; and happy should that couple con- 
sider themselves, where the little extravagancies of the wife 
make her look with good temper on the dissipation of her 
husband ; — and, vice xersa^ when the consciousness of the 
husband makes him find an apology for the innocent gaities 
of his wife. It is but a round-about way, after all, of coming 
at the main point of matrimony, — a quiet life, oh Lord ! 

Mrs. S. A quiet life indeed! and do you think one would 
marry only for to have a quiet life? No, indeed ! I've no 
notion of a quiet life — not I — my lady; — no more had your 
ladyship, till Mr. Mordent- 

Lady A. Stop, stop, my good Sarsnet — Remember it is a 
wife's privilege to hear nobody abuse her husband but 
herself. 

Mrs. S. Well, I won't abuse him, though my tongue 
itches to call him every bad name *in the Roman calendar. 
But answer me one question, my lady ; did you on a cold 
nipping night in November, order me to attend in my 
camblet cloak and slippers, to meet Mr. Mordent — only 
to lead a quiet life after all ? 

Lady A. Why (hesitatingly) I did expect something more, 
to be sure ! but then, my good Sarsnet, those w ere our 
young days of romance and anticipation, when 1 lived only 
in the vision of my own fancy, and breathed but in the 
brilliant illusions of my own imagination. Then my mind 
was warm with the overcharged description of love and 
marriage, which I had found in the circulating library, and I 
pictured to myself a man at my feet for whole ages, without 
considering we might grow weary in the joints, from con- 
tinuing in the same awkward posture—and that fashion had 
rendered conjugal attentions ridiculous. 

Mrs. S. Fashion indeed ! There it is — Mr. Mordent 
was never contented without you were shewing your person 
at the Opera, and at routs and balls, and wasn't your first 
quarrel upon that very point ? 

Lady A* It was indeed, (feeling.) I then expected in- 



14 

deed, perhaps foolishly, that we should find happiness in the 
performance of domestic duties — Heigho. 

Mrs. S. There, now, I declare you scythe at the very 
recollection of his drumstick duties, as you call them. 

Lady A* Sigh! no, I didn't sigh, did I? I'm sure I 
didn't intend it, (aside) [deep feeling for a moment] at least, 
I should have thought that my sighs have been stifled so 
long, that they had forgotten the passage from my heart to 
my lips ; (resuming her gaiety) and why should I sigh ! The 
leader of fashion, the envy of my friends, riches in my 
hand, and pleasures at my command — uncontrouled mistress 
of my own actions — what wish is there ungratiried ! Am I 
like Lady Spendthrift, obliged to render up a quarterly 
account of every little expenditure on my person and plea- 
sures, and doomed to a monthly quarrel upon paltry pounds, 
shillings and pence ; — or does my fate resemble that of Mrs. 
Homel} T , who never dare stir a foot from her own threshold^ 
without telling the how — the why — and the wherefore to her 
jealous-pated husband? If my inclination led me to the 
farthest quarter of the globe, would Mr. Mordent's veto 
prevent my excursion ? 

Mrs. S. Oh, no, indeed : the farther the better, I dare 
say. 

Lady A. Or, did the most extravagant caprice enter 
my imagination, would he prevent its gratification, by a — 
" you shan't do that," or " I won't permit this" — with a 
" my dear," at the end of it ? 

Mrs. S. No : I will say that for him, he never takes the 
trouble to contradict you, since he never appears in your 
sight. He's always with his companions. 

Lady A. And am I not always with mine ? If Mordent 
passes his nights out, do I not see company at home? If he 
takes his box of dice at Brookes's, have I uot my box at the 
Opera ? If the knock, which gains him admittance to his 
home, does not thunder at the door till three, do not 
I prevent the noise from disturbing my rest, by not return- 
ing till four ? 



15 

Mrs. S. Well, there is some pleasure in being even with 
a husband, to be sure. But I don't know — I hate this yea 
and nay indifference. I'd had rather see you in a passion, 
and a quandary, and all that — and it would be better for you 
to meet every day, and quarrel every day, and make it up 
again every day, like other respectable married folks, than 
never meet at all. 

Lady A. By the bye, did he give no reason for refusing 
to come to me? 

Mrs. S. Reason forsooth ! Husbands never have no reason. 
But they do say, that he has lost a sum of money at play, at 
Pharo, or sum'inut. I'm sure, I wish Pharo had been 
drown'd in the Red Sea, along with his namesake. 

Lady A. His losses are nothing new — In gambling, as 
with matrimony, one must put up with Fortune, in all the 
variety of her moods. 

Mrs. S. Aye, but they do say that he is obliged to borrow 
at a million per cent. 

Lady A. Well, then he'll pay it, and it will be over. But 
what detained you so long on my message ? 

Mrs. S. Aye, ma'am, that's what I'm going to unclose 
to you; for I'm sure there be other bad doings. And seeing 
my master go into Mr. Item's room, I clapp'd my ear to the 
key hole, and there I heard a whuz-buz. 

Lady A. What, turn eaves-dropper, Sarsnet ; this was 
wrong. 

Mrs S. Oh, I dare for to say you think so, I'll be bound 
for it you never put your ear to your key hole. But when 
some people won't let other people know the rights of a 
thing, why, I don't see, for my part, why a key hole mayn't 
serves one's purpose to come at the truth. However, I 
could only catch up a word here and there — and the first 
was sum'mut about a child. 

Lady A. A child ! (anxiety.) 

Mrs. S. And a mother, my lady ; though, for the matter 
of that, where there is a child, one's own natural penetrality 
might tell one there was a mother. 



16* 

Lady A. Well? (anxiously , yet repressing curiosity.) But, 
no — don't tell me — I'll not hear a single word more, and 
command you to be silent. 

Mrs. 5>. Oh, very well, ma'am, I'll be silent — I won't tell 
you a word about Mr. Item's fathering the child. 

Lady A. (with hope and pleasure.) Oh, then it was Mr. 
Item, after all ? 

Mrs. S. Oh, yes, ma'am, but that was all a flam. For 
my master, immediately after, exclaimed (Lady A. listening 
anxiously) but, I beg your pardon — I won't utter a single 
word more — as your ladyship desired. 

Lady A. (pettishly.) What did your master exclaim? 

Mrs. S. Why, my lady, he called somebody a poor in- 
jurious girl, and a prodigality of wit and beauty ; and then I 
heard somebody's feet on the stairs, and was fain for to 
scamper. 

Lady A. A child ! an injured girl ! and I not know of it. 
How my heart beats, (a moment of feeling which she re- 
presses.) Why, one would suppose that I was an affec- 
tionate wife, instead of the fashionable and nonchalante 
Lady Anne Mordent, (to Mrs. S.) Nonsense, child ! you 
have been deceived. 

Mrs. S. No, indeed ; I had all my seven senses, and my 
eye-teeth about me — for you know, my lady, I love you 
in my heart and soul, and it is all for your own good, that 
I wish to prove my master the worst husband in the world, 
just to spur you up to treating him as he deserves. 

Lady A. (after a moment.) No, no, I don't believe it, 
upon that point he wouldn't, he couldn't deceive me; if 
it were so, he knows my heart is not so ungenerous, but that 
he might have trusted me, 

Mrs. S. Well, well, I'll rummage about, and find thepar- 
ticlers, — shan't I, my lady ? 

Lady A. Why, if you can, by chance ; but mind, without 
paying — no key-hole business — and then, if you can just 
learn, — merely — merely — whether you haven't mistaken the 



17 

whole matter. In short, I am so convinced that you are 
wrong, that you had better convince yourself so ; for my 
own part, I am utterly careless about the matter, {suddenly 
assuming deep feeling.) For 'tis so long since I have reposed 
my happiness upon affection, that .... but, Lord bless 
me, I'm becoming sentimental,— and shall be too late for a 
thousand calls I must make this morning---so order the 
Vis-a-vis to the door, that — that, that— {aside, feeling over- 
powering her as she is going out) — that I may lose my recol- 
lection in a round of unmeaning visits. [Exit, 
Mrs. S. She may say what she will, but I know very well 
she is the most miserablest lady alive, and I could tear his eyes 
out ! Husband, indeed ! And so, because I listened to the 
fellow's love, and nonsense-stuff, and took pity on him, when 
he was going to hang, or drown himself, he must think, as 
soon as he has got me safe, to be made my lord and master I 
I'd tell him another story !-— My lord and master, truly ! 

[Exit. 



END OF ACT THE FIRST. 



18 



ACT II. 

An Apartment at Mrs. Penfold's. 
Lennox and Mrs. Penfold. 

Len. But my good Mrs. Penfold, do tell me who this 
divine creature is. 

Mrs. P. That's more, Mr. Lennox, than I can tell. 

Len. But, how came she under your care ? 

Mrs. P. That's more than I dare tell : And, I can assure 
you, I c shall get into a pretty scrape, if it was known, that 
you had even seen her. 

Len. But that, you know, you could not help, since I 
caught a glimpse of her at the wiudow ; what is more, I have 
often seen, and often followed her, but could never before 
make out where she lived ; little did I think she was a protegee 
of my good old nurse's. 

Mrs. P. Yes, yes, your good old nurse might have waited 
long enough for a visit, if you had not seen a young girl at 
her window. 

Len. Well, well, lam sorry you won't let me see her ; you 
are right, I dare say. But I am wrong to neglect one, to 
whom I owe so much, as to my good nurse, Penfold ; and I 
shall therefore redeem my character by visiting you /much 
oftenerthan I have done. — (Aside.) Now to write to Mordent, 
that I have discovered my incognita, and make him assist me, 
in getting her into my power. He is under too many obliga- 
tions to me to refuse — So farewell, Mrs. Penfold. ['Exit. 

Mrs. P Ah, ah, master Lennox, your'e a sly one tho' I 
nursed you myself, and I fear my cousin Item would stand 
little chance by your side. But, what can have come to my 
old avaricious relation, who, till now, has ever made money 
his god. Here he commissions me to praise him to her, and 



19 

inspire her with favourable sentiments of him. There's some 
mystery in all this, which I cannot fathom. Ah! she comes. 

Enter Joanna. 

Well, my sweet Joanna — but why so melancholy ? I left 
you, just now, all life and spirits. 

Joanna. True, madam ; nature has blest me with spirits 
to smile in the face of misfortune; yet, sometimes, the 
bitter remembrance, that I am disowned by my father, — 
that there is no hope that these lips will ever meet a parent's 
kiss, or this head receive a parent's blessing, will call a tear 
into my eye, and make my smiles appear traitors to the 
feelings of my heart. 

Mrs. P. Come, come ; forget such unpleasant thoughts ; 
what should you care for one, who never cared for you ? 

Joanna. Ah, you have never known the want of a parent's 
smile : you were never abandoned ; you knew your father. 
I never saw mine — do not even know his name. I had a 
strange desire to see him once, and I was denied. I am a 
high-spirited girl, but I would have kneeled to him, would 
have kissed his feet, and was refused. No matter — (dashing 
her tears from her e.yes)—\ know it is ungrateful to meet 
your kindness with tears — so thus I will dash them off, and 
try to resume my smiles. 

Mrs. P. That's right, that's right ! Be cheerful, since 
you are placed here by a person, who is very capable of 
making you independent of this father, who deserts you. 

Joanna. There is* only one way, madam, in which I wish 
to be independent, and that is, by the exertion of the ta- 
lents nature has blest me with. It was the hope of this, 
which induced me to fly from the pittance my unkind father 
allowed me. The bread that was not sanctioned by his 
affection, I disdained to eat. But, come, set me to work, 
and you shall see, that the lark shall not carol his morning 
song more blithely than Joanna. (A knocking at the door.) 
Hark ! — somebody is coming — I had better retire. 



20 

Mrs. P. Do so ; — should it be the kind gentleman, who 
interests himself in your fate, 1 will call you. There, go, 
and wipe away the traces of your tears. 

Joanna. I will, ma'am ; you are very good, and I will do 
my best to repay your goodness with smiles. [Exit. 

Mrs.- P. I'm glad she's gone, for it may be that rake, Mr. 
Lennox, again ; and if cousin Item were to find any body 
had seen her, he'd stop the paltry stipend he allows me, 
and so often taunts me with.— Ah ! no — 'tis Mr. Item 
himself. 

Enter Item. 

Well, cousin Item 

Item. Well, Mrs. Penfold — But since you receive the 
substantial benefit of our relationship, in the annuity which 
my kindness allows you, I must beg you will dispense with 
the nominal one of calling me cousin — Mr. Item, if you 
please. (Aside.) I hope the vulgar wreich hasn't told Joanna 
she's my cousin. 

Mrs. P. Well, well, cousin — Mr. Item, I mean — I will 
mind for the future. {Aside.) A purse-proud fellow ! 
Item. Well, is Joanna secure — is she safe? 
Mrs. P. Quite ; and I have followed your directions in 
every particular. 

Item. That's right: — then she has seen nobody, and is 
prepared to receive me as her sole protector ? 

Mrs. P. Protector! Lord bless me, I, hope you don't 
mean any wickedness by the young creature. 

Item. Wickedness, eh ? He ! he ! he ! What does the old 
fool mean ? No, no — her legal protector. Have ye done 
as I bid you ? 

Mrs. P. Oh yes ; believe me, my tongue has not been 
silent in your praises. 

Item. Mrs. Penfold, you are a very sensible woman, and 
if you pursue my instructions implicitly in this business, the 
day that makes Joanna Mrs. Item, I will pay you a quarter's 
annuity in advance. 



2] 

Mrs. P. Mrs. Item! So, so, I thought something was 
in the wind, by your eyes sparkling so. 

Item. Do they sparkle ? That's fortunate ! there may be 
use for them. I say, we shan't make an unseemly couple, 
shall we ? But I'm impatient — Fetch the girl — I must lose 
no time. 

Mrs. P. (Aside.) No, you can't afford it, indeed* 

Item. What's that you say, Mrs. Penfold ? 

Mrs. P. That time is too precious- to be thrown away, 
cousin Item. [Exit. 

Item. Mr. Item, if you please, Mrs. Penfold. 'Tis hard, 
indeed, while I submit to the caprices of those who patronize 
me, if I can't make those, whom I patronize, in their turn 
submit to mine. Well, now Joanna is in my power, and I 
am going to commit that which 1 have ever denominated a 
sov'reign folly, matrimony. But with me 'tis wisdom — 'tis 
a union of interests — the climax to my success, ha ! ha ! — 
tisn't love and nonsense ; and yet the idea that she's a fine 
girl, has given me a sensation here, that — that — my other 
sensations don't know what to make of. But suppose she 
should refuse me — Pshaw, I shall make it her interest to 
accept me, and that's enough ; besides, she does not know 
that she is an heiress. Ah, ah, she's coming— A fine girl r 
indeed. 

Enter Joanna. 

Joanna. (Curtseying.) I attend your pleasure, sir. 

Item. (Aside.) I'faith, if I look long, I shall forget the 
Berkshire estate, and the action of recovery into the bargain. 
Madam — miss, I mean — I — I — That is — Lord bless me, 
what's the matter? Pooh! pooh! Item, you are a fool! 
(aside.) You are welcome, my pretty lass ; Mrs. Penfold has 
informed you of the interest I take in your welfare ? eh ! and 
how good I've been, and how good I intend to be to you 
—eh ? 

Joanna. Mrs. Penfold has informed me of your goodnes6, 



and I beg you to accept the warmest thanks of a grateful 
heart. 

Item. {Aside.) Ffaith, she's charming. 

Joanna But, sir, there is yet one favour that would out-do 
all the rest. 

Item. A favour ? What is it, my sweet girl ? 

Joanna. Tell rne who is my father — Lead me to his 
feet — Let me once receive a parent's blessing. 

Item. To your father! No, that is impossible. He has 
a wife who would spurn you. 'Twas his un kindness that 
first interested me in your favour. I tried to make him own, 
and receive you. And his harsh expressions of the trouble 
and ex pence you were to him, made me determine to render 
you independent of him. 

Joanna. Trouble ! Expence ! Sir, you have indeed con- 
ferred an obligation on me. Mistaken parent ! It was not 
thy fortune, but thy affections, Joanna coveted. But your 
goodness mentioned independence. There is but one way 
to win it — let me work— I will labour cheerfully. 

Item. Work— labour. No, no, such hands as those were 
never intended to work. Such eyes as those are fit for 
other purposes, than following a needle through cambric 
muslin. Work indeed ! ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Joanna. {Aside.) What can he mean? Surely the old 
gentleman is not in love with me. 

Item. Come, my pretty Joanna, let us sit down a little, 
and talk over your affairs. {They sit.) I have a great deal to 
say to you, though, i'faith, when I look in thy pretty eyes, it 
seems all to run out of my head. 

Joanna. {With simplicity.) You had better look the other 
way, then, sir. 

Item. But I can't, I can't ; they are the loadstone, and 
my heart is the needle. I dare swear, now, you have had 
plenty of lovers. 

Joanna. Lovers, sir ! 

Item. Aye, young whipper-snappers, that did uot know 
the iT own minds. But, be careful of them; they don't 



2,3 

know what they're at. There's no dependence upon them ; 
no, no, you must look to those who are a little older, who 
are grown steady, and know what they are about. A man 
about my age, for instance. 

Joanna. About your age, sir ! 

Item. Aye, my pretty Joanna; do you think you could 
love me? 

Joanna. I could love every one who ivas kind to me. 

Item. Every one? Lord bless me! that would not do at 
all. Aye, but do you think you could love me ? Answer 
me that, 

Joanna. If you were kind to me, yes. 

Item. There's a good girl. 

Joanna. I could love you, as a father. 

Item. {Starting.) A father! Pshaw! I don't mean that. 
A father, indeed. But tell me now, Joanna, did you ever 
love any body in any other way ? 

Joanna. Oh, yes, one person, I love very much. 

Item. One ! I begin to be alarmed. Oh, a lady, I sup- 
pose. 

Joanna. No, a man. 

Item. A man! 

Joanna. As kind-hearted a one as nature ever formed. 

Item. And who was he, pray ? How did you become 
acquainted with him ? I understood you had never seen any 
body. What was his name ? 

Joanna. Old Mr. Winter. 

Item. Winter ! {aside.) Ha ! ha ! ha ! There's not much 
fear of him; 1 began to be afraid though. {Loud.) And I 
dare say, the old lady you lived with, used to warn you 
against the arts of us men ; used to say, we were gay de- 
ceivers, and meant nothing but wickedness, eh? and all 
that, eh ? 

Joanna. No, sir; I do not recollect ever being warned, 
except against the arts of one man, who, I was told, would 
ruin me, if he could. 

Item. And who was he, my pretty Joanna ? I have no 



24 

doubt, your warning was a right one. Who was this one 
'man, who would have ruin'd you ? A wicked dog, I'll be 
bound. 

Joanna. It was one Mr. Item. 

Item. (Starts away.) I — I— I — Item ! 

Joanna. I understand he has been the bane of my poor 
father, who has, for years, been deceived by him, till he has 
nearly robbed him of all his wealth. I heard, too, he had 
designs upon me. But you will protect me from him. 

Item And who told you this ? 

Joanna. Winter, the faithful Winter. 

Item. (Aside.) Curse him. 

Joanna. You seem agitated. Surely, under your protec- 
tion, I shall be safe from this bad man. 

Item. Safe ! Pooh, pooh ! he shall trot back to the West 
Riding as barefoot as he came for this. You musn't be- 
lieve this Winter, he's a fool ; he has deceived you ; 'tis he 
himself that would hurt you ; (aside) I'll make the York- 
shire rascal pay for this ; (loud) don't believe him, Joanna, 
you musn't believe him. (aside) I am too much in a passion 
to do any good with her now. There, my Joanna, go to 
your room. I will do every thing that is best for you. 

Joanna. Thank ye, Sir. (aside) This is very strange ; I 
do not understand it ; but the more I look and hear of this 
old gentleman, the less I like him. [Exit. 

Item. Warned against me, and by Winter too ! But I 
won't be circumvented. Mrs. Penfold shall remove this 
bad impression. Her beauty has given a double incentive 
to interest, and force, or cunning shall accomplish all my 
schemes, (going, returns.) No, no, prudence — prudence. 

[Exit. 



25 



SCENE II. 

An Anti-chamber in the House of Mordent 
Enter Mordent and Cheveril. 

Chev. Grumble no more, Guardy. Have done with 
prognosticating evil, 'tis all in vain : your gloomy reign is 
ended; fun, frolic, dash, and adventure begin-— I am at 
liberty. 

Mor. Yes — to play the fool! 

Chev. I'm free — I'm alive — I'm beginning to exist ! 

Mor. Like a wretch at the stake, when the flames first 
reach him! 

Chev. The whole world is before me, its pleasures are 
spread out, and I long to fall on; the golden apples of de- 
light hang inviting me to pluck, eat, and — 

Mor. Be poisoned! 

Chev. Ha! ha! ha J 

Mor. As your guardian, I — 

Chev. Curse guardianship! I have been guarded too 
long — Years out of number have I been fed with lean Latin, 
crabbed Greek, and an abominable olio of the four faculties ; 
served up with the jargon of Aristotle, the quirks of Thomas 
Aquinas, — my brain was a broker's shop; the little good 
furniture it contained, all hid by lumber. 

Mor. Let me tell you, young Sir 

Chev. Not now, your day is gone. — I am on the wing to 
visit the regions of fruition and paradise; to banquet with 
the Gods, and sip Ambrosia from the lips of Venus and 
Hebe, the Hours, the Loves, and the Graces! 

Mor. You are a lunatic t 

Chev. No, I am just come to my senses; for I am just 
come to my estate, high health, high spirits, eight thousand 
a-year, and one-and-twentv I 



Mor. Youth! riches! poor idiot! — Health too? What is 

man but a walking hospital? You, boy, you, little as you 

suspect it, include within yourself a whole pharmacopoeia of 
malady and mischief! 

Chev. Zounds! he'll persuade me presently I am Pan- 
dora's box ! 

Mor. So you are! 

Chev. Why, Guardy, you are mad. 

Mor. True, or I should take the shortest way to get rid of 
misery, and instantly go hang myself, and quit a world where 
wretchedness walks at noon-day — where pleasure leads but 
to pain—and man lives but to prey upon his fellow. 

Chev. What a picture ! 

Mor. Equal it in accuracy, if you can. 

Chev. Why, I am but a young Artist ; however, I can 
dash my brush at the canvas as daringly as you have done?-- 
so what think you (rapturously) of mirth, songs and smiles ; 
youth, beauty, and kisses ; friendship, liberty, and love ? 
with a large capacious soul of benevolence, that can sooth 
the afflicted, succour the poor, heal the sick, instruct the ig- 
norant, honour the wise, reform the bad, adore the good, 
and hug genius and virtue to the heart? 

Mor. Every feature false! 

Chev. Curse me, but I say the likeness is at least as good 
as yours, and I am sure the colouring is infinitely more de- 
lightful. 

Enter Winter. 

Winter. Ize ganging aboot the business of the poor Lass : 
so if ye happen to want me, I'ze be back in a blink. 

Mor. Go where you will ; so that you do not torment 
me. 

Chev. Ha, Old Winter, my boy! — Don't you know that 
I'm of age? We'll make your old heart warm in spite of the 
frost on your brow — We'll have all spring, summer and sun- 
shine — Won't we, old Winter. Why do you look so glum, 
old Honesty ? 



27 

Winter. Old Honesty J Ecod, ye mistake the matter, young 
gentleman ; I am an old go-between ! 

Chev. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Winter. Oh ! you may laugh — but its varra true : and I 
begin to feel it — a helpless child has been cast upo' the wi4e 
wide warld, by a hairtless fayther, and I am a part o' the 
cause. 

Mor. How dare ye, Sir r 

Chev. A child deserted by the father ! 

Winter. Aye, ye may well shew the white of your eyes" - 
but it's true for all that. 

Chev. Is he poor ? Is he pennyless ? 

Winter. Ecod, you've pratty nearly hit the mark — if Jona* 
than Winter baint cursedly mistaken. 

Chev. Bring thy child to me. bring it to me, old rueful, 
I'll be it's father.— I never fathered a child in my life, I long 
to begin. 

Winter. Why ye seem to ha' a little more human affection 
than some faythers. 

Mor. Begone ! leave us, Winter, as you value my favor. 

Winter. Yes, I'll go where I tow'd ye ; and if I doan't 
hear of her, ye'ze hear o'me ! that's all. [Exit. 

Chev. Bring me the baby, Winter ! Zounds, how it would 
delight me to father all the fatherless children in the world ! 
poor little dears !— I should have a plentiful brood '.—And so, 
Guardian, I want money. 

Mor. What, to purchase destruction wholesale ? 

Chev. I have five hundred good, wicked, spirited, famous 
projects on hand. — You have seventeen thousand pounds of 
mine, hard cash— I want it. 

Mor. Seventeen thousand plagues! 

Chev. Every farthing. 

Mor. Your money, Sir, is locked up in mortgages. 

Chev. Locked up ? Oh, dam'me, I'll unlock it. I'll send 
honest Grime to ye ; he carries a master key. 

Mor. Have you no regard to my convenience ? 

Chev. I'll pay the premium ; and if you want security, 



£8 

you may have mine. I must have money ! 'tis the source 
of frolic, pleasure, and notoriety. The world must see me, 
hear of me, talk of me ! I'll be a patron, and a subscriber, 
and a collector, and an amateur, and a connoisseur, and a 
dilletanti! I'll hunt, I'll race, I'll dice; I'll grub, plant, 
plan, and improve ! I'll buy a stud, sell a forest, build a 
palace, and pull down a church ! I'll extirpate the dandies, 
extinguish the exquisites, and overturn the hobbies ; I'll cut 
old fashions and invent new. The coats of the day shall be 
the Cheveril cut ; the hats the Cheveril shape ; Cheverii til- 
buries shall be all the go ; and the name of Cheveril become 
the watchword of fashionable notoriety; the epithet that 
distinguishes elegance from vulgarity. That's the way to 
make use of eight thousand a year, my moody guardian. 

[Exit. 
Mor. Mr. Cheveril ! — He is flown — why aye, with spirits 
equally wild, wanton, and ignorant of evil, I began my ca- 
reer. I have now lived long enough to discover, that uni- 
versal nature, is universal agony ! O, this rejected Joanna ! 
Miserable girl ! Well ! am not I miserable too ? Who is 
not ? The dangers to which she may be exposed ! The 
cruelty of utterly abandoning her ! Never shall I again be 
at peace with myself I 

Lady Anne, without. 

Lady A. {without.) Where is your master? 

Mor. Hark ! my wife ? She tortures me by her gaiety 
while she stands on the brink of a precipice which she does 
not perceive, and by the extravagance which my folly has 
taught her. Her forbearance of reproach at my neglect too 
is insupportable. I must away, I can't endure to see her ; 
while I feel that the next moment may plunge her in the pit 
I have dug for her. [Exit. 

Enter Lady Anne. 

Lady A. Mr. Mordent ! So, so, he again avoids me ; 



29 

upon my word, this moody lord of mine is abominably pro- 
voking, (angrily.) But no matter, he has taught me his own 
indifference, (with feeling) at least he shall teach it me. 
And I cannot, if we never have another conjugal tete-a>tete 
as long as we live. Yet why will he not let me enquire into 
the truth of reports, which one would suppose must concern 
his peace as well as my own ; and why, I may ask myself, 
why and wherefore till Doomsday, without getting any 
answer, or being able to conjecture the truth. So I may as 
well pursue my own career of pleasure, and still drown all 
the recollection of my better feeling, and my early anticipa- 
ting in the bustle and gaiety of society. Oh! Mordent, 
Mordent ! why have you driven mv to such resources ? 

Mrs. Sarsnet, without. 

Mrs. S. (without.) I tell you, I can't stay ! 

Lady A. The stories, too, with which this kind, but of- 
ficious creature torments me ; and which her length of 
service gives her the privilege of telling me. 

Enter Mrs. Sarsnet, (hastily.) 

Mrs. S. I've got it, my lady ! I've got it! 

Lady A. And what, pray, have you got now I Some new 
report, or merely a repetition of the old one. 

Mrs. S. Why, I'll tell your ladyship. A queer quandary 
kind of person brought my master a letter ; which I knew 
was auspicious. So, ma'am, I watched him when he went 
v for to read it, and then he put it in his coat pocket, ma'am. 
So my master's coat was all powder; over here, (signifi- 
cantly.) How he came by it, I don't know. 

Lady A. Well, well, don't teaze me about it. What have 
I to do with your master's letters ? 

Mrs. S. So, my lady, he took it off, and ordered one of 
the fellows to give it a brush ; so, making a pretence, I was 
close at his heels. 



30 

Lady A. At whose heels ? 

Mrs. S. The footman's, my lady. So, while he way 
brushing, he had a wranglation with the cook ; and turned 
about to gabble footman's gibberish with she ; so, I having a 
hawk's eye, twirled my hand behind me, so, and felt in the 
pocket ; and there I found this written letter, which I slily 
slipped under my apron ; so 

Lady A. Take a letter out of your master's pocket ? 

Mrs. S. Yes, my lady ; and so being broke open, I read 
the contents, and found that it was from Mr. Lennox, 
ma'am, and all about master and a young girl. Oh ! that 
Mr. Lennox leads my master into all kinds of mischief. 

Lady A. A letter ! a confirmation, perhaps — I shall be- 
tray myself. Give it me. Sarsnet, you have done wrong ! 
To have robbed your master of his money, would have been 
less culpable than to steal from him the knowledge of trans- 
actions which he does not wish to avow. 

Mrs. S. (whimpering* and with tokens of great affection.) 
It's very hard, because [ can't bear your lady — ladyship's 
ill usage, and — and— and always feel as if my very stays were 
a bursting, to see your, your treatment, time after time — that 
I should get myself ill — ill — ill will, because I love you from 
the very bottom of my heart ! 

Lady A. You have indulged yourself in these liberties 
too often : you presume on the length of your service ; and 
upon the familiarities I have so long found an apology for in 
your attachment ; but I'll suffer it no longei*. 

Mrs. S. Very — very well, my lady ! I'll be deaf, and 
dumb, and blind ! and when I see you treated worser than a 
Belsavage, I'll burst twenty laces a-day before I'll speak a ■ 
word ! 

Lady A, {with great kindness.) What you have done has 
been affectionately meant, and I am sorry to have given you 
pain. 

Mrs. S. (catching and kissing her hand.) You are the 
tenderest, and best of ladies ! and I know who is an unfeel- 
ing brute ! 



31 

Lady A. I must rid myself of the letter as fast as I can, 
lest the temptation should be too great, and I verify the cha- 
racter of my sex, excite the anger of my Blue Beard, and 
become, like Fatima, the victim of my curiosity. 

Mrs. S. Blue Beard, indeed ! 

'Enter Lennox and Cheveril. 

Len. Pray, Mrs. Sarsnet, is Mr. Mordent within ? 

Mrs. S. Indeed, Sir, I don't know ! (muttering.) [Exit. 

Len. I'll bet you a thousand, Cheveril, your charmer does 
not equal the girl I have this moment left. 

Chev. Done, for ten thousand ! 

Len. You would lose! 

Chev. You never beheld so peerless a beauty ! 

Len. How did you become acquainted with her ? 

Chev. We are not yet acquainted ; (sighs) and I begin to 
fear we never shall be. 

Len. Oh! oh! 

Chev. I met her three times in the Green Park. The 
first moment I gazed at her with admiration ; as soon as she 
was gone by. 

Len. Gone by ? 

Chev. No ; she's not gone by. But, good manners, you 
know, would not let me stare her in the face. Such a shape ! 
Such elegance ! The next time I determined to speak to her-, 
and approached as resolutely as Hercules to the hydra. 

Len. A good simile for a beauty ! 

Chev. I had studied a speech ; but, somehow, there was 
such a swelet severity in her looks — I — I had not the power 
to utter a w-ord. 

Len. Courageous lover ! 

Chev. The third time, however, it being a little darker, 
for it was always in the evening, I was more undaunted : 
so, fully determined to throw myself at her feet, and declare 
my passion, up I marched, but as the devil would have it, 
she turned and looked me full in the face; and— and virtue--- 



32 

and— and modesty, ever so awful— that my heart sunk 
within me! 

Len. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Chev. It is now a fortnight since : and though I have 
walked the Green Park, morning, noon, and night, every 
day, I could never once again set eyes on her ! Intolerable 
booby that I was, to lose three such precious oppor- 
tunities 

Len. Of making love to a lady's maid ! 

Chev. A lady's maid ! Damn it, sir, she's no maid — she's 
the lady herself, I'll be sworn ! Oh ! for one momentary 
glance, that might give vent to the passion that devours me ! 

Len. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Chev. What ! you think I dare not ? 

Len. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Look you, Cheveril, I know you : a 
lighted match, and the mouth of a cannon, could not cow 
you like the approach of a petticoat ! 

Chev. I ! afraid of women ? Dam'me, I don't understand 
having my character attacked, and traduced! Make a 
master Jackey of me ? I am a wicked one ! 

Len. Ha ! ha ! wicked ! You are as conscientious as a 
drunken methodist, or as a dying miser ! You are not only 
afraid of the women, but of the sin ! 

Chev. Why, if— No, dam'me, 'tis not true! I have no 
more conscience than yourself. 

Len. Me? I have a deal of conscience. Pleasure, I own, 
can tempt me; but I make no pretensions, like you, to sin 
for the sake of reputation. 

Chev. Sir, I make no such pretension! I am, indeed, 
resolved to be a fellow of enterprise, pith, and soul; but not 
by vile, rascally methods. I'll love ail the women, that's 
but natural — and perhaps trick some of the men, that's all 
fair! but not seduce wives, ruin daughters, and murder 
husbands and fathers. No, no, I don't go so far as that! 
No ! if I cannot be wicked, without being criminal, why, I'll 
live and die an honest dull dog, and leave all my fortune to 
found a lying-in hospital for the benefit of the rising genera- 
ration. [Exit. 



Enter Mordent, searching Ms pockets. 

Mor* Curse the letter — 'tis gone ! — careless booby ! a 
thousand to one but it falls into the hands of Lady Anne ; 
and the officious impertinence of her waiting woman will 
attribute the gallantry Lennox wrkes about, to me, 

Enter Lady Anne, 

Mor. (retiring.) Ah ! she's here ! I dare not be with her 
alone. I dare not confess my ruin to her, or stop the 
extravagant habits I have myself urged her to adopt. 

Lady A. Mr. Mordent— Mr. Mordent— {catching hold of 
his arm.) Nay, nay, you shall give me a few moments now I 
have so fairly caught you. Why, one would swear that our 
matrimonial life at home was a game of hide and seek, (with 
feeling) only that all the seeking is on my side. And one 
would really suppose in our wanderings abroad, that we 
studied the map of London only to go different ways. 
However, since you run so much after us while we are your 
mistresses, it is but right that you should make U9 run after 
you when you are our masters. 

Mor. Mirth, madam, is not in unison with my present 
feelings. 

Lady A. Then I will be sad, and apostrophize dulness as 
poetically as Pope, without ever mentioning that it was in 
the company of my husband, (curtseying.) 

Mor. (aside.) Can fashion have thus robbed her of her 
feeling ! Your spirits and feelings, madam, are more con- 
veniently subservient to my wishes than usual. 

Lady A. Nay, nay, was there ever a time that Mordent 
could not make me what he pleased ? He found me a 
simple-hearted maiden at eighteen ; and made me a fond 
affectionate wife at twenty. He thought my manners too^ 

F 



34? 

rustic— my taste too domestic — my pursuits too confined- 
He enlarged my sphere of action — remodelled my disposi- 
tion — taught me to seek society — and made the moral Lady 
Anne Oldcrest the dashing and fashionable Lady Anne 
Mordent. Is there any thing else I can do to oblige him ? 
Mor. Pshaw ! 

Lady A. You were displeased that I never went to parties. 
Now, there is not one to which Lady Anne Mordent's 
name does not give distinction in the fashionable corner of 
the Morning Post. You laughed at my disinclination for 
play. I have corrected my error, and can display as proper 
a spirit at the whist table as the highest titled of my compe- 
titors ? If I am not fashionable enough for you, point out 
the pinnacle of notoriety you wish me to attain, and woman's 
wit and spirit shall reach it. 

Mor. (aside.) Distraction ! She hastens my ruin by com- 
plying with my foolish wishes. Madam, if you sought an in- 
terview only for the purpose- 

Lady A. Why, if I did not seek it for the purpose, I am 
afraid you would prevent its happening by accident. So 
now, my good moody Lord, be civil and not captious, 
or I'll bring you on your knees in a moment. Look at this, 
traitor, (shewing a letter playfully .) 

Mor. Ah, Lennox's letter ! which you have doubtless 
read, and attributed the contents to ine, and come to upbraid 
me with your suspicions. 

Lady A. (seriously and proudly) You do me wrong. It 
fell into my hands by the reprehensible but unauthorized 
curiosity of my woman. I have flown to you with it un- 
opened, as she gave it me. That I intended to have teazed 
you a little maliciously about it, I confess. Your reproach- 
ing me seriously with the baseness of having read it, and 
with an intention to upbraid and suspect you, has driven this 
childish idea from my wishes. There, Sir, is your letter, un- 
read by me. However I may have lost your affections, 1 will 
still preserve your respect. 



35 

Mor. Affections ! They are dead — swallowed up in the 

same vortex which has hurried me to perdition. Why 

do ye not reproach me with neglect ? 

Lady A. (with feeling.) Because I am proud enough to 
bear it with indifference, if real, and silly enough to hope it 
arises only from the same source as my own — fashion, and 
not feeling. Rut come, confide once more in me. 

Mor. (aside) Confide in her — tell her how poor I have 
made her — and repose upon that heart which I shall render 
wretched. (Loud.) No, no, it is impossible : I know and 
feel .that your heart is reproaching me, though your lip may 
be silent: — that silence, my imagination, perhaps jaundiced, 
construes into insult. But beware, Lady Anne, how you 
expose me to your imperious family. 

Lady A. I do not, indeed I do not. 

Mor. Why then are these family consultations ? 

La$y A. They are contrary to my wish. 

Mor. A separation, I hear, is the subject of them ; and 
perhaps it is the best thing for both of us. 

Lady A. (piqued) Oh, I have no doubt you think so ; 
though, upon my word, no formal process of law can occa- 
sion a much greater separation than we enjoy — at present. 

Mor. What would you say, if I declared my fortune to 
be lost, squandered, wrecked? 

Lady A. Why perhaps in such a case I might exclaim, 
that as I had helped to squander it, I might help to redeem 
it; and that Mordent has it still in his power to make me 
an affectionate wife in poverty, as he has made me a 
fashionable one in his affluence, (playfully.) But I see you 
are only trying me, though I vow for the moment you made 
me feel seriously, and that I know to be quite out of your 
code for the conduct of the wife of the fashionable Mr. 
Mordent. So to redeem my character, and not lose my 
place in the Morning Post, I am off for my evening round 
of visits. I dine at Lady Linger's— drop in for Tramaz- 
zani's Aria at the Opera — play for half an hour at Lady 
Scarecrow's— squeeze through the Marchioness of Stifle- 



36 

friend's rout — dance a quadrille at Mrs. Somerset's, and sup 
at Lady Allnight's. So, my good moody lord, you now 
know (sighs) exactly where you may go without the unfa- 
shionable risk of encountering your wife. [Exit. 
Mor. Ha, ha, ha! What are barbs, and stings, and 
poisoned arrows ? Pitiful instruments ! Thou, triumphant 
wretchedness, usest these but on small occasions ; they 
want pungency ! Hated, hated vice, what an angel hast 
ihou lost me ! 

Enter Lennox. 

Len. Have you got my letter ? 

Mor. Oh, yes, yes— I've got it, and my wife has had it. 

Len. Your wife ? 

Mor. Yes, yes ; but talk not of her ; to think of her is 
distraction. What is it you want ? 

Len. I have discovered my charmer, and I want your 
assistance to 

Mor. Destroy her — Is it not so ? When destruction is 
your object, you think, perhaps, you cannot apply to a 
better source. 

Len. Destroy her ? No, to make her happy ; if I can at 
all judge from appearances, she is not so at present. I 
cannot get an interview with her : she is at my old nurse 
Penfold's, whom I shrewdly suspect to be keeping her 
for some sly purpose of her own. But come, Mordent, 
where's the alacrity you promised, should I ever need your 
assistance ? Do ye so soon forget— 

Mor. That I am in your debt ? Oh, no — no. You say 
she is lovely — perhaps innocent — 

Len. For the first I answer ; upon the latter score, one 
can never be certain. But come, man, shake off your 
scruples ; you know me too well to suppose I should use 
any girl ill. So your advice and assistance I must have. 

Mor. Advice ! true ; I too, fool that I am, knowing the 
impotence 



37 
TLnter Winter, (in great agitation.) 

Wint. She is gone ! she's gone ! she is lost for ever! 

Mor. (aside to Winter.) How now, herald of malice 
and mischief? , 

Wint. Oh, ye may talk and scold, but I can't forget her. 
Mayhap I shall never set eyes on her pratty face again. 

Mor. Peace, I say ! 

Wint. Peace ? How can you expect it — how can ye 
dare to hope for it ? Oh, ye may call me names, an' you 
vvull— Ize spake my mind — A father turn his back on his 
child! But she left a message for ye. 

Mor. (anxiously.) What message? 

Wint. Tell him, if he woan't gie his child ane kiss — ane 
little blessing, that child will wark, starve, and die, ere she 
wull live like a parish pauper on scraps and alms; — tell him 
she has a prideful spirit, that doan't care to beg what she 
can't win ; and if he scorn to acknowledge his daughter, 
why she scorns to accept his charity ! That's her message to 
ye. — (Going, returns) — But I'll set the whole town ater 
her, but what I'll find her ; and I'd make you look ater 
her yoursen, but that ye doan't know the face of your own 
child. 

Len. How? 

Wint. It be true as you stands there, maister Lennox ; 
he never saw the face o' her, sin she were a foot long. But 
? tis all very well — Nothing comes more surely to light, 
than that which is long hidden : an ill life, an ill end ! 

[Exit. 

Mor. Wolves, tigers, serpents, were first created, and 
then man ! 

Len. You are truly a high fellow, Mordent ; you spend 
your fortune, deceive your wife, and disown your child ! 
That is, you inflict misery, and then tell us all you are 
miserable. 

Mor. I act, and am acted upon : the precept and the 
proof go together. 



38 

Leu. You are incorrigible : But come, we must about 
this business ; my heart is deeply interested. 

Mor. My affairs are at a crisis ; and, if I augur rightly, 
it will soon be all over with me. 

Len. Hope better; come with me. 

Mor. With you — with any one! My own thoughts are 
hateful to me. Lead me where you will — Teach me to for- 
get myself! [Exeunt. 



END OF ACT THE SECOND. 



39 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. Enter Mordent. 

Mor. The crisis of my ,fate is come. I seem fairly 
hurled into the toils ; and my pursuer is waiting to seize 
upon his prey. This cursed deed, which gives the power 
to ruin me beyond r edemption, is ready for my signature. 
But the plunge must be made. It places at least some 
little time between me and destruction, and is my last 
resource. This poor deserted Joanna too preys upon my 
mind, and adds venom to the stings of my remorse. For- 
sake — as she is, she too may become the prey of some 
designing Lennox ! And I have promised him assistance in 
his pursuit. Yet, if it be innocence he means to destroy, 
I will recal my promise. I will warn her of her danger. 
For in my Swn wreck, I will not pull down the happiness 
and innocence of another. 

Enter Clement. 

Clem. My uncle desires me to inform you, sir, that he 
has examined the deed, and it is ready for signing. 

Mor. I am coming. 

Clem. Had I but any influence with you, sir, I would 
entreat, I would conjure you, not to execute it, sir. 

Mor. Why? 

Clem. A sudden demand may be made by the first mort- 
gagee ; you may be unprovided for payment ; equity of 
redemption will be forfeited ; he will foreclose, and the 
estate will be his at a valuation made fifty years ago, less 
than half its present worth. 

Mor. Ha! ha! ha'. 'Twill become his incumbrance, as 
it has been mine. 



40 

Clem. Money-lenders neglect no advantage. 
Mor. And as for conscience, or honour 



Clem. Some of them, I am afraid, sir, have very little of 
either. 

Mor. 'Tis in the order of things. Your uncle, indeed, is 
a man of integrity ; he knows them to be rogues, and warns 
me of them. 

Clem. Sir, he — I— He m?y be a mistaken man, like 
others. I once again conjure you, sir, to re-consider the 
consequence. It is a very serious affair. 

Mor. Mr. Clement, you are young : You cherish the fond 
hope of alleviating misery. Ah ! 

Clem. Sir, I— My situation is a painful one, but every 
feeling of honesty and duty compel me to inform you, that,, 
when once you have signed this, you will be wholly in the 
grasp of mercenary men, who will pay no respect to former 
profits, the benefits they have received, or the feelings, and 
distresses of him, by whom they have acquired wealth, 
power, and pride. ^ [Exit, 

Mor* The nephew and the uncle, poor fools, have the 
misfortune to be honest. Grime, sly villain, is more cunning, 
and will not forfeit his hope of cutting evil short at the 
gallows. The deed must be signed, for the money must be 
had. Yet these cautionings do but strengthen an aversion, 
which, in spite of necessity, I have always felt against this 
last act of despair. 

Enter Item. 

Item. (Aside.) What can detain him? 

Mor. Mr. Item, you are right ; this mortgage is a damned 
affair. Delay is dangerous ; thought is vain ; yet I am in- 
clined to think again, before I sign. 

Item. Think! Oh, by all means, sir; I like that; I ap- 
prove that; act with your eyes open; take no rash step; 
'tis what I always say, but mine is a thankless office. Like 
other officious fools, I can give counsel, but no help. I am 



41 

sorry to tell you, here is the upholsterer below, who is very 
insolent, and declares, if he be not paid immediately, he will 
have an execution in the house before night. 

Mor. Scoundrel ! Could not you put him off for a week ? 

Item. He has been put off too often. 

Mor-. Are there no means by which you could advance 
me that sum yourself? 

Item. Oh, that I could ; it would make me the happiest 
man on earth. 

Mor. Affectionate soul ! 

Item. Riches would indeed be welcome. 

Mor. {Sensibility.) Mr. Item, you make me as great a 
fool as yourself. 

Item. As to the deed, 1 warn you again and again not to 
sign it. 

Mor. Then I will not. Ruin and wretchedness are 
certain ; but the mode of being wretched is in my own 
choice, and I will not. 

Item. Yet what the devil I shall say to all your tradesmen, 
I don't know; they are every one of them as clamorous as 
the upholsterer. I don't believe one of them will wait two 
days. 

Mor. Was ever man so pestered ! 

Item. Here too is a long account that I have just received 
from your groom at Newmarket; who says, he shall soon 
want even a wisp of hay. For my part, I have not a guinea 
in hand — I wish I had. Then, the impatience of Cheveril! 
And what the malignant damned world will say of the defal- 
cation of a guardian, there is no foreseeing. Sign you 
must not. 

Mor. At least, I will take an hour or two to think of it. 
Misfortune, disgrace, and approaching infamy, sit mocking 
at me, and I shall soon attain the acm6 of misery. [Exit. 

Item. (Sneeringly .) Ha! ha! ha! You won't sign. In- 
deed, moody master of mine ! Ha ! but I will send those 
about your ears that will presently make you. Now to see 
if Joanna is still safe. [Exit, 



42 



SCENE II. 

Enter Cheveril mid Grime. 

Chev. You must let me have the cash directly. 

Grime. That is impossible. 

Chev. I say you must. Impossible, indeed ! I'm of age, 
young, rich, gay. I'll have nothing impossible. 

Grime- {Aside.) What if I were to tell him of Joanna ? 
*T would be a good joke to rob old Item of her, and he 
would pay well. 

Chev. Twelve hours I have been free, and I havVt had 
a taste of pleasure yet. If 1 don't make haste, I shall grow 
old before I begin. 

Grime. {Aside.) 'Tis a rare thought ! 

Chev. Why do you ruminate ? Do you doubt me — doubt 
a man of eight thousand a year ? 

Grime. I say, Mr. Cheveril. 

Chev. Well, what do you say ? 

Grime. Do you love innocence, youth, and beauty ? 

Chev. Love'em ! 'Sdeath ! an't I hunting them ? An't I 
dying for them ? 

Grime. I know where they are to be found. 

Chev. You! 

Grime. The rarest creature ! 

Chev. Where ? where ? you old fox, where ? 

Grime. Such pure red and white! 

Chev. Aye ! 

Grime. Such moist ripe ruddy lips ! 

Chev. 'Sdeath! don't drive me mad! Tell me where? 
Red and white— ripe and ruddy lips. But stop ! I'll not be 
unfaithful to my angelic incognita of the Green Park. 

Grime. She's a young untutored thing. 

Chev. Untutored ? Then, depend on it, I'll not be her 
instructor. She is not for me; I want to be a famous 



43 

wicked fellow, but not by ensnaring the helpless. No> 
tlam'me ! that isn't the true way ! 

Grime. Aye, but ensnared she will be, and by one old 
enough to be her grandfather. 

Chev. No, curse me if she shall ! 

Grime. Why, what will you do ? 

Chev. Snatch her from such danger ! provide for her — 
cherish her — love her — no, I can't love her — my Green Park 
beauty has got all my love ! 

Grime. Aye, now you say something ! 

Chev. Zounds ! here have I been an age in the possession 
of eight thousand a year, and have not done one famous, 
good, wicked thing yet. It's a damned shame ; isn't it, old 
Cent, per Cent. 

Grime. You'll fall in love with her the moment you 
see her. 

Chev. To be sure, I shall — no, I shan't — I'm in love 
already, and one can*t fall into two pits at the same 
time. 

Grime. There — there's her address, (gives a card.) 

Chev. Her address ! Mine will do the rest. 

Grime. Mention my name, and they'll admit you. 

Chev. (reading.) " Mrs. Penfold, Number"— 'Sblood! 
why do I stand prating here ? another day will be over, and 
I shan't get a taste, (going.) 

Grime. 'Tis just by, and I'm telling you of a banquet. 

Chev. To rescue youth and beauty from age and ugli- 
ness is indeed a banquet ! So good bye, old Grime ! Here 
goes. [Exit. 

Grime. Ha ! ha ! I hope he'll out-rival Item ; and if he 
should chance to marry her, 1*11 tell him she's legitimate, and 
shall have to bring the action of recovery for my reward. 

[Exit. 



44 

SCENE III. 

The Street. 

Enter Cheveril. 

Chev. This is the street ; it must be somewhere hereabout* 
What a fatiguing affair pleasure-hunting is ! Oh, that I could 
once more meet my lovely angel, my Green Park deity I 
But she seems as much lost as Rosamond's Pond ! (examines 
card) This is the number. 

Enter Item from Mrs. Penfold's door. 

Ah ! old Item ! What, my old boy, you running after the 
girls too ? 

Item. Girls! what do you mean by girls, Mr. Cheveril? 
what brought you here? 

Cheu. The pursuit of pleasure, my old boy ! of beauty — 
do you know where I can find it ? 

Item. I ! how should I know, Mr. Cheveril? I have no- 
thing to do with beauty : you know, business is my pursuit. 

Chev. Oh ! you sly old poacher ! Grime tells me, there's 
a very pretty girl hereabouts. 

Item. Grime! (aside) a prating rascal! Did Grime tell 
you so ? (alarmed) Pooh ! pooh ! he was only quizzing you. 

Chev. Quizzing ! no, no. (reconnoitering the house.) 
Door shut — windows fast — all close as a country jail. How 
shall I get in ? 

Item. Eh ! get into jail, easy enough ; but I say, Mr. 
Cheveril. 

Chev. Oh, for a harlequin's wand, that, with a slap, I 
might turn the house inside out, and see all its contents. 

Item. Eh! what? he'll turn the house out of window. 
Oh lord ! 

Chev. Window ! gad, my old boy, a good thought (but- 
tons up and prepares for a leap.) 



45 

Item. Why, what are you going to do ? 

Chev. Do, why, since the damned inhospitable door 
won't turn upon its hinges, and admit me ; I'll e'en make a 
morning call, by taking a flying leap through the window ; 
so here goes ! 

Item, (aside.) What shall I do ? (stopping him) but, I say, 
Mr. Cheveril — recollect — remember. 

Chev. Eh ! why, what's the matter ? Egad, Item was 
coming out of the house ; he must be the old man! Curse 
my foolish tongue, it had like to have spoiled all ! (aside.) 

Item, (anxiously.) And did Grime say this beauty was to 
be found here ? 

Chev. Here — no. Oh ! he didn't tell me where; he only 
mentioned general terms — beauty and so forth — but 'twas 
only a joke ! 

Item. A joke ! Oh, only a joke ! ha ! ha ! ha ! (anxiously) 
But you are sure he didn't tell you where ? 

Chev. Oh ! quite sure. 

Item, (anxiously.) You're sure it was only a joke — ha ! 
ha ! — you're quite sure ? 

Chev. Oh, only a joke. 

Joanna throws up sash, and appears at zoin doze) for a moment. 

What the devil was that ? 

Item, (alarmed, and turning Cheveril suddenly round.) 
Oh, nothing ! 

Chev. Nothing. I am sure I saw a petticoat and a sash. 
(looking.) 

Item, (turns him round.) Yes, a sash — a sash window. 
(aside.) I wish I could get him away. But I forgot; your 
guardian wants you. 

Chev. Then he must wait. 

Item. But there's some money you must receive. (Aside.) 
If that doesn't entice him, nothing will. 

Chev. That must wait too. 

Item. But, you'd better go to Mr. Mordent's. 



Chev. (Aside.) The old fellow suspects, (hud,) I can't. 

Item. Why not ? 

Chev. This is my road — that's yours. I pursue pleasure 
«— you business ; you know they always lie different ways ; 
so fly and prepare the cash ; I'll be with you presently, and 
then hope never to see your face again till the money is 
spent, and I want more ! [Exit. 

Item. There he flies — the whirligig. Ah, he's out of 
sight, and all is safe. That cursed babbling tongue of 
Grime's had almost ruined me. Now to make Mordent 
sign the deed, and I'm safe. Exit. 



SCENE IV. 
Inside the House of Mrs. Penfold. 

Enter Mrs. Penfold. 

Mrs. P. (calling.) Betty ! 
Betty, (without.) Ma'am. 

Mrs. P. Who is it, that bounced through the back win- 
dow in such haste ? 

Enter Betty. 

Betty. I don't know, ma'am : a young hem I [Exit. 

Enter Cheveril. 

Chev. I am here, safe ; I have twicked him. — Ah, my 

charmer, hum ! Oh, your humble servant, Madam. 

Your name is 

Mrs. P Mrs. Penfold, at your service, Sir. 

Chev. Your acquaintance, honest Mr. Grime, informs me, 
you have a beautiful girl under your care. 

Mrs. P. True, Sir; but I can permit her to see nobody 
without Mr. Item's leave. 



47 

Chev. Item! the cunning rogue! Oh, ma'am, I'm just 
come from old Item. 

Mrs. P. Oh ! if you have his permission— — 

Chev. Permission ; Oh, yes — no ! — that is — 1 won't lie ! 
even to a woman, tho' I know 'tis the fashion. I haven't 
got the old boy's permission — I only want yours ; and look 
here, I'll give you this for five minutes' conversation with her. 

Mrs. P. Why, bless me, 'tis more than my whole year's 
annuity — but observe, Sir, it is only a short conversation. 

Chev. Nothing more. 

Mrs. P. No injury to Mr. Item ? 

Chev. Never fear. 

Mrs. P. Well then, only for five minutes. [Exit. 

Chev. Now courage, Cheveril, and don't let her imagine 
I'm one of your sheep-faced fellows. I don't fear any 
woman, except her in the Green Park. Now, if she be 
worth saving from this old fellow, and I could outwit him-— I 
— Oh, I should establish my character for spirit, soul, and 
intrepidity for ever. I'll not be out of countenance. No, 
dam'me, 1 am determined, I'll speak — I'll speak, and to the 
purpose too. I'll be a damn'd forward, prating, impudent, 
wicked dog. 

Enter Joanna. 

(Cheveril turns his back, and tries to assume courage.) 

Joanna. A gentleman to speak to me — perhaps he who 
has written to me, to warn me that I am not safe here, and 
who has sent me a disguise. 

Chev. (not daring to look at Joanna.) Mrs. Penfold, Mrs. 
Penfold. I wish Mrs. Penfold was here ! I should have felt 
bold enough, had she been present. 

Joanna. It is very strange ! 

Chev. What does she say! (listening.) Ha — hem! Mrs. 
Penfold. Where the devil now is all my impudence flown. 

Joanna. I hear from Mrs. Penfold, that you wish to 
speak to me, Sir ? 



•48 

Chev. Yes — no — yes. That is — If I could but turn 
round — one plunge, and it would be over, (turns by de- 
grees) Ma — Heavens! (Stands astonished) 

Joanna, (aside.) Mercy ! it is he. 

Chev. (aside.) The very beauty of the Green Park! 

Joanna, (sighs.) I had almost hoped never to have seen 
him more. 

Chev. (aside.) This is the luckiest — lucky ? To find her 
here? Exposed to I know not what danger. 

Joanna, (aside.) I have thought of him much too often! 

Chev. A creature so divine ! Looks of such conscious 
modesty ! 

Joanna. Sir ! 

Chev. Madam, (aside.) O, that I might touch her lips ! 

Joanna, Mrs. Penfold. 

Chev. Mrs, Penfold-— never mind Mrs. Penfold — 'tis you 
alone I wish to see. 

Joanna. Oh, Sir, pray don't detain me — I am sure it is 
wrong for me to see you. 

Chev. Stop, madam. Pardon my presumption, but I — 
you — you have so much beauty and modesty — and merit — 
and — I am such a faultering, bashful booby, that if you 
leave me, I shall run mad ! 

Joanna. Mad, sir? 

Chev. Upon my soul, I shall, madam, I can't help it; 
I never was so enchanted, enraptured, ancl ravished in all my 
life ! And I am sorry to find you— 

Joanna. Sorry to find me? 

Chev. No, no, no, madam ; glad to find you, infinitely 
glad; but not exposed as you are in this house. 

Joanna. Exposed to what, Sir? Then, was it you, who 
wrote to me under the name of Lennox, this morning, and 
sent me a disguise ? 

Chev. Lennox! disguise! Is this his charmer then? 
Zounds ! my sweet — I beg your pardon — but don't put it 
on — 'tis another plot. I never speak ill of any body, but 
Lemiox is a great villain ; that is, where women are con- 



49 

cerned. Oh! I am so glad to see you. Why the devil 
didn't you come into the Green Park again? I got the 
rheumatism watching for you. I was frantic to think I had 
lost you. 

Joanna. How so, Sir ? we are not acquainted. 

Chev. I am sorry for it, madam. B — b— but I hope we 
shall be. I have been a very bedlamite. I could neither 
eat, drink, nor sleep. I have dreamed of you every night; 
you have been in my head, in my heart, in my arms. 

Joanna. Your arms, sir? 

Chev. Oh, lord, no, madam, no, no — I — I — am talking 
in my sleep now. I mean — that is — I would not offend you, 
madam, no, not for ten thousand thrones. Though to find 
you here is the greatest torment ; and if you would but leave 
this place — when there's a plan — a plot — a 

Joanna. I do not understand you, Sir. 

Chev. Forgive me if I appear intruding ; indeed my inten- 
tion is good 

Mordent without. 

Mor. I tell you, I will see her ! 

Chev. (alarmed.) 'Sdeath, I hear my guardian! (Looking 
round.) I must not be seen ; but, for heaven's sake, let me 
speak to you once more ! I'll hide here ! Get rid of Guardy, 
and I'll pop out, and finish the conversation. 

[Retires into a closet, from which he occasionally looks. 

Joanna. But, Sir, what will Mrs. Penfold say? What wilt 
she think ? 

Enter Mr. Mordent. 

Mor* (surveys Joanna.) Your humble servant, Madam. 
{Aside.) She is indeed beautiful ! 

Joanna. Sir! is it Mrs. Penfold that you want? 
Mor. No, Madam— it is yourself ! 



50 

Ched. (From closet.) Curse me, if I don't think old Item 
■ has placed her here for him. 

Joanna. I have not the pleasure of knowing you, Sir. 

Mor. That, Madam, is true ; But you know a gentleman 
of* the name of Lennox, Madam, do you not ? 

Joanna. Not personally, Sir, but I have received a letter 
sigped by that name. 

Mor. He has made proposals to you, has he not ? 

Joanna. Proposals! I do not understand you, Sir — He 
warned me of some threaten'd danger, but, I confess, his 
let£$r was a riddle to me. 

Mor. (aside.) By heavens, she is an innocent ! Nay, her 
countenance would half persuade me there are beings capable 
of happiness. 

Chev. (From closet.) Zounds ! he looks as if he too would 
fall, in love with her. 

Mor. Pardon my intrusion, Madam ; I am a stranger to 
you, but — I am interested most warmly in your welfare ! and 
since I have seen you, that interest has increased ! Madam, 
you are in danger. 

Joanna. You too warn me of danger! What is it, and 
who is it I am to fear ? 

Mor. Young, beautiful, innocent, and unprotected! you 
should ask, who is it you are not to fear? Are you yet to 
learn that youth, innocence, and beauty, are but so many 
incentives to the lawless Libertine ! and that there are thou-* 
sands ready to plot their destruction ? 

Chev. What the devil are they about ? 

Joanna. There is a tone, Sir, in your voice — that — I know 
not why — strikes directly to my heart ♦' 

Chev. The devil there is ! She didn't say that of my voice. 

Joanna. Point out to me my danger — teach me to avoid it 
—1 will confide in you. 

Mor. Confide in noue but yourself! — I have been al- 
most lured into a plot for the destruction of your innocence, 
because I was led to believe that Innocence did not exist— 



51 

But I have seen you— am convinced, and will atone my 
error ! — who, and what are you ? 

Joanna. I am nobody : the child of nobody : a branch 
lopped off, and cast away, that might have grown, but that 
could find no root — misfortune and an active spirit, struggling 
to shake off oppression, have quickened me a little— Other 
than this, I am but a simple girl ; and my whole art is to 
note what [ see, and to speak what I think. 

Mor. Whoever you are, come but with me, and, while I 
have a morsel, a home, or a heart, you shall share them ! 

Chev. (runs forward) Dam'me, if she shall ! 

Mor. Why, Mr. 

Chev. She shall have my morsel, my home and my heart ! 

Mor. You in this house, Sii 4 — with this Lady, Sir ! 

Chev. Nay, Sir — you in this house, Sir — with this Lady, 
Sir! — Madam, put no faith in him ! He does not care a far- 
thing for you, — I love you, heart, body, and soul ! Fil offer 
you no wrong — Every proof that the most ardent, purest 
passion can give, feel, or imagine, shall be yours. 

Joanna. For heaven's sake, gentlemen ! — Oh, where is 
Mrs. Penfold ? I must seek her, to prevent mischief. 

[Exit precipitately j calling "Mrs. Penfold !" 

Mor. (Prevents Cheveriiyrowz passing) How came 1, Sir, 
to find you here ? 

Chev. Zounds Sir, how came I to find you here ? 

Enter Mrs. Penfold. 

Mrs. P. What have you done, Sir ? Ah ! another gentle- 
man ! a little more, and you had frightened her into a fit. 

Mor. Hark you, Mrs. Penfold! At your peril, keep her 
safe and free from insult 'till my return. 

Chev. Insult! If I hear that old Item, or any body else 
insults her, I'll make a general massacre ! Let any one take 
her away, speak to her, or even look at her, while I am gone, 
and I'll grind you all to powder. (Goes, and hastily returns.) 
Here, here's another bank-bill, I'll be back in five minutes ; 
keep her safe, and I'll give you a thousand pounds !. My 



52 

name is Cheveril — ten thousand! (Returns.) Cheveril, I 

say — my whole estate, my old girl. [Exit. 

Mrs. P. But, sir, sir, Mr. Item will never forgive me. 

[Exit, 

Re-enter Joanna hastily. 

Joanna. Did I hear right I Am I then in the power of 
the man, against whom Winter has so often warned me r 
Every thing confirms it. I must escape — but how ? Ah, 
the disguise sent me for a vile purpose, shall effect a good 
one. I will use it; return to the spot where Jonathan used 
to meet me in the Green Park; under his protection seek 
some humble retirement, and while an honest, though poor 
independence becomes the fruit of virtuous industry, I will 
pray for that father who exposed me unprotected and help- 
less to the vicissitudes of the world. [Exit. 



END OF THE THIRD ACT. 



53 



ACT IV. 

Item enraged, and Grime determined. 

Grime, Once for all, Mr. Item, it will not do ; so, be of 
a sweet temper. 

Item. Why, you grumbling old blockhead, what would 
you have? May you not thank me for every shilling you 
are worth in the world ? 

Grime. Don't tell me, Mr. Item; I am but your scavenger, 
and you put me to a deal of dirty work. 

Item. Here's ingratitude ! Why, Mr. Grime ! 

Grime. Well, Mr. Item. 

Item. Did I not first find you in Fullwood's Rents, where 
you were starving in rags and wretchedness ? Answer that. 

Grime. Well ? 

Item. Did I not take you to Monmouth Street, make 
you cast your beggar's skin, transform you into something 
almost human, hire you apartments in the Temple, and pass 
you on my master for a rich usurer, a damned rogue ? An- 
swer that again. 

Grime. Very true; but you would not let me act my 
part. You took care to be the damned rogue yourself. 

Item. Have I not trusted you, tutored you, taught you 
your trade, and furnished the tools ? 

Grime. What then ? 

Item. And do you pretend to bargain, wrangle, and pre- 
scribe terms to me ? 

Grime. Yes, I do. 

Item. You do ? 

Grime. I do. Help yourself how you can. 

Item. Here's a villain ! 

Grime. You trusted me, you know ; you taught me my 
trade, and furnished the tools. 



54 

Item. You viper — sting the bosom that foster'd you. 

Grime. I follow your own example; Mr. Mordent fos- 
tered you — There's morality in it. 

Item. Oh, damn your morality. 

Grime. Be of a sweet temper. Time was, I was your 
slave ; you are now mine. 

Item. Oh, the rascal — the infernal rascal ! 

Grime. I'm too deep in your secrets for you to dare dis- 
card me ; so 111 have my share. 

Item. Your 

Grime. Ay, my — my full share; so, be sweet tempered. 

Item. And who is to find the money ? 

Grime. You. 

Item. And who is to run the risk ? 

Grime. You. 

Item. And who is to be prosecuted for usury and col- 
lusion ? 

Grime. Cast, perhaps, for perjury, whipped, nmprisoned r 
and put in the pillory— You. 

Item. And you to run away with half the profits ? 

Grime. Yes. 

Hem. Here's justice! Oh, what a damned world do we 
live in. 

Grime. Your fortune is made; you must now help to 
make mine. 

Enter Winter (unperceived.) 

Item. Here's a villain I 

Grime. You must, or I tell. 

Item. What will you tell ? 

Grime. All — all the usurious tricks you have practised on 
Mordent; the arts by which you have cheated him of his 
estates, pretending that I am the man; your intention to 
foreclose; your neglect in not paying yourself interest^ 
purposely to rob according to law; your plots to ruin 
Cheveril : all, all. 



55 

Item. Yx>u will tell all this ? 

Grime. I will. 

Item. Why, you fiend » you superlative villain » you cut* 
throat ! 

Grime. (Seeing Winter) Hem! (pause.) 

Item. (Aside.) Ah, the cursed spy! Ah, good Mr. 
Winter! Here is my old friend, Mr. Grime, has, has — « — 
(Aside to Grime.) You see what your villany has done ! 
(Aloud.) He is a good-natured soul, as you know, — (Aside) 
Scoundrel ! And he— I — I— 

Winter. Oh ! — Yes— yes — I understand — ye needn't trou- 
ble yoursen to explain — ye'er a sweet nut, if ye war well 
crack r t ; I warrant ye. 

Item. I, I, I was bantering him: trying to — (Aside) 
Villain! — But nothing can put him in a passion! — (Aside) 
Oh, curse you! — Nothing! Perhaps you want our good 
master, Mr. Winter. 

Wint. Ecod, for once in your life ye'er right, Mr. Item — 
I do want him — and quickly too. 

Item. He is gone out. Nothing but ajoke, Mr. Winter ; 
nothing else. 

*Wi?it. (clenching his Jist,) Dam'me, how I should like to 
have one thump at 'en. 

Item. Can I, can my dear friend, Mr. Grime, — (aside) 
Oh, you thief! do you any service '? 

Wint. Come— come — None ? o your hypocrisy 'wi me — 
'Twon't do, I tell ye. 

Item. Can we oblige you any way in the world i 

Wint. Yes. 

Item. (Fazdriing) How ? how? 

Wint. Why, by taking compassion 6*' the bowels o' ye'er 
brother, Jack Ketch, and be ye'er own hangman ! [Exit. 

Item. There, villain ! you see what you have done! 

Grime. Is it my fault? I tell you again, you had better be 
sweet tempered. I shall say no more : you know my mind. 
(Going.) 

Item. (Aside.) Oh, that I could poison him! (aloud) Mr 
Grime ! Mr. Grime 1 my dear Mr. Grime I 



56 

Grime. Well, Mr. Item? 

Item. This quarrelling is very foolish. 

Grime. Oh! 

Item. We are necessary to each other. 

Grime. I know it. 

Item. Your hand, my dear Grime \ 

Grime. There. 

Item. We are friends ? 

Grime. If you please. 

Item. Well — well — (aside) Damn him ! How I hate the 
dog! Concerning this Berkshire mortgage? 

Grime. Ay? 

Item. You shall have twenty per cent, on the premium.— 
(Aside.) I must quiet him. 

Grime. That won't do! 

Item. (Aside.) Unconscionable rascal ! Thirty. 

Grime. It won't do— half— the full half! 

Item. (Aside.) Hell take him ! Well, well, my dear Grime, 
the half be it. 

Grime. Together with my moiety of the thousand given 
with Joanna, and the half of her fortune,— if, you know what. 

Item. Your — Hem! (sighs) you shall; you shall. Are 
you satisfied ? 

Grime. On these conditions. 

Item. Where is the deed ? 

Grime. In that bag. 

Item. Mordent is coming. I know hewill, for I know 
he shall, sign. But that is not all. 

Grime. What more ? 

Item. This damn'd Yorkshireman will assuredly betray us 
to him; and Lady Anne's jointure prevents his being so en- 
tirely destitute, and powerless, as is necessary. 

Grime. But, how is that to be helped? 

Item. Oh, we must let her relations know his conduct 
They will make her quit him. Hush ! here he comes! I will 
give you my reasons and instructions when we are alone. 
Where is the deed ? 

Grime. Here, ready. Hem! 



■57 



Enter Mr. Mordent. 

Mor. {Anger) What is the meaning, Mr. item, that I see 
the upholsterer, and two other ill-looking followers with him, 
below ? 

Item. Nay, why ask me ? Why knit your brows at me ? 
Can I coin ? 

Mor. Excuse me; I am a hunted bull, and butt at friends 
and foes. 

Item. The insolent fellow insisted on taking possession ; 
so, thinking you would not wish Lady Anne to know, I pre- 
vailed on him and the officers to remain in the hall, 'till I 
could speak to you. If I have done amiss, shew me in what. 

Mor. No, no ; I know your zeal. Why will you not ad- 
vance two thousand pounds, for that and other immediate 
purposes, and delay signing, Mr. Grime ? I ask only a day. 

Item. Ay, Mr. Grime, why will you not ? Pray do, Mr. 
Grime. 

Grime. ( With gravity .) Impossible! 

Item. Don't tell me ! Impossible indeed ! You ought to 
consent ; it is your duty : nay, you shall consent ! Now do 
consent— recollect how much — 

Grime. I cannot. Must have security. 

Mor. Ha! ha! ha! Villain! Where is the deed? 

Item. So, you will not, Mr. Grime ? You will not? 

Grime. I wish I conld ; but I am myself a borrower : the 
money is not my own. 

Item. Hem ! 

Mor. Ha! ha! ha! Damn your rascally hypocrisy ! Give 
me the pen. 

Item. {Holding his arm.) Why, you will not sign, Sir! 
will you ? 

Mor. Peace, fool ! Cannot you see a wretch on the wheel, 
but that your bones too must ache ? 

(Item quitting him, he signs.) 

Item. Ah ! it is always thus! I may advise, but my advice 
is never followed. 

Mor. (seals) " I deliver this as my act and deed." Here, 



58 

implement of hell ! I know your thirst, blood-hound ! ,r Tis 
ready-mixed destruction ; — take, quaff, and burst ! Begone. 

Item, (seizing the deed) Come, sir ; my good master has 
sufficient reason to be angry with you ; it was very un- 
friendly, sir, to refuse. You teach Mr. Mordent what he 
has to expect, (aside) All is now secure. 

[Exit Item and Grime. 

Enter Winter, (looking earnestly after them.) 

Wint. Ha' ye signed ? ha' ye signed ? 
Mor. Ask no questions — Yes. 

Wint. Then its all over. Well, well — Stark deed has no 
remeed, as the proverb says. Two wolves may well worry 
one sheep. I cam to tell ye, that ye'er smooth-tongued 
steward, and his companion Grime, are about two of the 
greatest scoundrels as ever walked on two legs — But 'tis no 
matter. 

Mor. Pshaw, fool. 

Wint. I tall ye, they are two damned villains. 'Tis nae 
six minutes agone, sin I heard all their terrifying gab. 
Mor. Hear! 
Wint. Yas, hear ! 
Mor. What did you hear ? 

Wint. Item himself confess that he had fleeced ye of ye'er 
estates ; that Grime be nae mair but his jackall ; that it is 
his intention to foreclose; that he has wilfully neglected to 
pay himsel interest, for that he may claw ye agreeably to 
law ; that there ha' been sham deeds and shameful doings ; 
and that a plot is laid to filch maister Cheveril of aw' his 
wealth. 

Mor. (convulsive laughter.) Ha, ha, ha! You heard all 
this ? 

Wint. Aye, I did, wi my own ears. 

Mor. Ha, ha, ha ! Item ? Are you sure you heard this 
precious mischief? 

W int. When did Jonathan Winter tell you a lie ? 

Mor. Ha, ha, ha! Item? I am glad on't; 'tis right, 'tis 



59 

consistent, 'tis delightful : Ha, ha, ha ! Abraham's rejected 
prayer : not one honest man : Ha, ha, ha ! 

Win. Come, come, fair and softly : not you, nor the black- 
clawed Lucifer hitnsen, can deny but that old Jonathan 
Winter is honest. 

Mor. Item? Ha, ha, ha! And 1, too — I thought him 
just and good. Oh, gull, gull, gull ! Ha, ha, ha ! (Recol- 
lecting.) Tell Mr. Clement I wish to speak with him. 

Wint. But your child — Ha r ye heard nothing o' her ? 

Mor. My child— true ; you recal another agonizing reflec- 
tion : 'twas to this villain I trusted her. 

Wint. To Item — to old Item ? Then heaven have mercy 
on her, that's all. 

Mor. Ah, I see at once — his horrid plan bursts upon me : 
he knew of her legitimacy ; his gains were not secure while 
she lived. Away, send Clement to me. 

Wint. Aye, noo the steed is stolen, ye wad lock the door. 

[Exit. 

Mor. (Convulsed anguish.) Oh, the sharp fang'd wolf: 
Ha, ha, ha ! 

Enter Lennox. 

Ijen. Mordent, how now ? How you look ? 

Mor. I am an ass, a most ineffable ass. 

Len. What is the matter ? 

Mor. Ha, ha, ha ! 'Tis proved upon me. 

Len. Your mirth is of a strange kind. 

Len. The man, whom I have trusted through life, ha. ha, 
ha !— he, whose rigid honesty, do you mark me — ha, ha, ha ! 
honesty ! 

Len. Well? 

Mor. Ha, ha, ha ! whose honesty made me sometimes 
doubt the truth of the self-evident system of evil-— ha, ha, ha ! 
he's a rascal, a double-leagued hell dog ! 

Len. Your steward ? 

Mor. Item, a deep, damnable, thorough-paced villain ! 
that can bully, cajole, and curse ; fawn, flatter, and filch, 
ha, ha, ha ! 

Len. Be patient. 



60 

Mor. Oh, I am delighted, ha, ha, ha ! 

Len. Be calm : you knew yourself to be in the power of 
a villain, and 'tis little matter whether his name be Grime or 
Item. 

Mor. How ? ,Ha, ha, ha ! In a world of rascality, are 
not two rascals better than one ? 

Len. Nay, but attend to me ; I want your help instantly 
at Mrs. Penfold's. 

Mor. (pause) Mrs. Penfold ? 

Len. Yes. 

Mor. (recollecting) It must not be. 

Len. Ahey ! what's the freak now ? 

Mor. (wildly) You can have no help of mine. 

Len. (angry) Indeed but I must. 

Mor. (earnest rapidity) I would not commit an injury on 
that girl for worlds. 

Len. (anger increasing) Why, what conscientious mum- 
mery is this ? You neglect your own child, and pretend to 
interest yourself for a stranger. 

Mor. If the stranger be an angel of light, a beneficent 
being, why not ? 

Len. Beneficent ! What, in this system of evil ? 

Mor. An exception to the rule '• a rare exception ! 

Len. Like Item ? 

Mor. Pshaw! Hell! 

Len. And may not your deserted daughter be equally an 
angel ? 

Mor. (wild terror.) May she ? If she should, I'll have no 
concern in the ruin of that girl. 

Len. (zvith suspicion and anger.) Hark ye, Mordent — I 
suspect you are plotting. 

Mor. I ! — 'Tis likely, indeed, at the moment that I have 
plunged into such a gulph, as that which now surrounds me ? 
that I should be plotting about a girl. 

Len. Well, well, it may be so ; the maid of the house, 
who is in my interest, tells me, she has adopted the disguise 
I sent her. As to you, Mordent, if you refuse me the aid I 
have a right to expect at your hands, you must no longer 



61 

expect my forbearance. Ponder on it well, and meet me 
instantly where your presence may be serviceable to me. 
My heart is in the affair, and woe be to him, who stands an 
obstacle in my path to her possession. [Exit. 

Mor. Ha, ha, ha! his forbearance — forbearance? well, 
well — no matter — friends and foes, assist him ! Debt has 
made me his slave, and why should I stand a bulwark in the 
way of destruction ? Why stretch forth my hand ? — is there 
one for me to grasp at? None! I will assist him, and help 
to pull down the virtue that puts my own vice out of coun- 
tenance. [Exit. 

Scene changes. — Enter Winter. 

Wint. Ecod, this poor lass runs in my head strangely ; 
and my heart goes thump, thump, whenever I think on her, 
so that I can't rest ony where. 'Tis no use my asking old 
Item fairly and openly where he ha' put her, because 
he wouldn't tell ; and it wouldn't be much more use my 
throttling him to get it out on him, because then he couldn't 
tell ; but I'll watch him. 

Enter Cheveril (in great haste, searching.) 
Well, mon, what are ye looking a'ter ? 

Chev. My dear Winter, can you direct me where Mr. 
Item or Mr. Grime may be found ? 

Wint. I direct ye, to see such a pair o'scoondrels ? I may 
as well tell ye how to catch plague, pestilence, and famine 
at once. I'm a hunting one on 'em mysel. 

Chev. 'Sdeath! they are both dead, and buried, I believe; 
for they are neither here nor there, nor any where else. Can 
you tell me where I can borrow a few thousands? 

Wint. Pray may I be so bold as to ask whether ye tak 
me for a thief, or a steward ? 

Chev. I shall go mad. Oh, Winter, I left the most an- 
gelic girl your eyes ever beheld, at a house hard by. She 
must be friendless and fatherless, exposed to the arts of 
villains. 

Wint. {eagerly.) What's that ye say of faith erless angel 



62 

Chev. I saw her first in the Green Park. 

Wint. Green Park • 

Chev. She is now at Mrs. Penfold's ; a divine girl! a mi- 
racle ! 

Wint. What? How? a lass in the bloom of youth — a 
young creature. 

Chev . Not twenty ; yet, with the penetration, wit, and 
understanding of the seven sages ! 

Wint. (agitated.) The Green Park ? Penfold's ! 

Chev. Hard by. 

Wint. I know the place ! I'll be a'rter her ! If it should 
be ! Quickly, old Jonathan, quickly. [Exit hastily. 

Chev. What is the matter with the honest soul. I don't 
know what sum may be necessary, but I find I can do no- 
thing without money. I must have enough too, for I must 
make sure. I'll place her in safety and splendour ; she shall 
be my queen. 

Enter Item. 

Ah, my dear, dear Item ! I am the luckiest fellow on earth ;. 
am in instant want of money. 

Item. So am I. I have been in want of it all my life. 

Chev. You must furnish me with ten thousand pounds. 

Item. Ten thousand ! Ah ! I wish I could! 

Chev. 'Sblood! don't stand wishing, but give me the 
money. 

Item. If my friend Grime were but here 

Chev. 'Sdeath and the devil, give me the money ! I shall 
lose her ! She'll be gone ! I'll make over the seventeen 
thousand, that is in Mordent's hands ; I will by heaven! On 
the word and honour of a gentleman ? 

Item. The seventeen thousand ? 

Chev. I will. 

Item. It is true, I have cash in hand ; but not my own. 

Chev. Zounds ! never mind whose it is ! Let me have it. 

Item Why, if I could but manage the matter ; I am a 
poor old man, and it would be a little lift. 

Chev. Oh, damn your little lift. 

Item. You are sure you you understand — the seventeen 
thousand — the whole seventeen ! 



63 

Chev. I tell you, yes. 

Item. The risk will be very great. 

Chev. Do you doubt my word ? 

Item. No, no — but 

Chev. But what ? 

Item. Your hand-writing, on a stamp, would be a memo- 
randum. 

Chev. You shall have it. Write a receipt for seventeen 
thousand : I'll sign it. 

[Item searches out an account book, lays it down; then 
takes out another book, finds a stamp and writes. 

Item. Aye, this is the thing. You remember the risk \ 
otherwise, it might be thought 

Chev. Give it me ! I have no time for thinking. 

Item. 1 must borrow to replace it. 

Chev. Will you come away, and let me have the money ? 
Come, come, man!— 'Sdeath! will you dispatch? 

Enter Clement. 

Clem. Do you know w r here Mr. Mordent is, Sir ? 

Item. No, Sir. 
[Cheveril hurries Item off, zvho puts up his receipt in one book, 
and forgets the other that he laid dozm on the Table. 

Clem. Mr. Mordent has asked for me, and, unfortunately, I 
cannot find him,^_I fear he has signed the mortgage. Oh this 
uncle ! Never was situation so excruciating as mine. Must 
I cast off all ties of blood, become his accuser, and, as the 
world would call it, betray my benefactor? Beside, what 
have I to reveal? my fears, and my suspisions, unconnected 
facts, that can alarm, but not relieve, and who is it that I 
should thus impotently accuse ? My own uncle ! (sees the 
book) Ha ! what have we here ? as I live, his private account 
book ! The very thing he has so carefully concealed from all 
inspection ! \ty hat shall I do ? deliver it to Mordent ? what 
may be the consequences I Disgrace, infamy, and — Dreadful 
thought! — I must not be rash«— Hark ! he's here— I must 
consider well. [Exit. 



6*4 

Enter Item and Cheveril. Item, with his hair on end, fright' 

ened, runs up to the table, looks over it, under it, and every 

where. 

Chev. (anxious to get him away.) You see, there is no book 
there. 

Item, (with terror.) I am certain I had it in my hand. 

Chev. We have not quitted the room a minute — Nobody 
can have been here since. 

Item. We left my nephew here. 

Chev. Well, if he have it, 'tis safe enough. 

Item. I don't know that ! I don't know that ? If 1 have lost 
it, I shall never sleep again. 

Chev. Come away ! You have it some where, locked up 
safe. 

Item. No ! I laid it down here ; I am positive of it. 

Chev. Nay, but you see that it is impossible ! Come, come, 
(Taking his arm) 

Item. If it be gone, I shall go mad. 

Chev. Is it so valuable? 

Item, (still searching his pockets, the table, and the cham- 
ber.) I would not lose it for all I am worth in the world • 

Chev. Come, come (elbowing him, but not rudely at first, 
to the door.) what did it contain ? 

Item. My soul ! my secrets ' 

Chev. Well, it certainly is not here. You must go. You 
shall go. I'll indemnify you. 

Item. You can't. 

Chev. I tell you I will, (pushing him off.) It is in your 
own room. 

Item. I hope so ! I hope so ! (turning back) but my heart 
misgives me. O Lord, I am undone. 

Chev. (a push.) Will you go ? 

Item, (turning.) I am wretched. 

Chev. (another push.) You won't? 

Item, (turning.) I am ruin'd. 

Chev. (again.) Will you, or 

Item, (turning.) I'm lost — I'm dead — I'm 

Chev. (again with more violence.) Furies and fire, begone! 

[Exeunt. 



65 

Enter Mordent. 

Mor. (calls.) Mr. Cheveril ! (runs over to the door.) Mr. 
Cheveril! Tis impossible to stop him ; but no matter; he 
can be no farther interruption to Lennox, who says he is 
certain Ins schemes will succeed. Oh, fortune, fortune, 
How dost thou aid the plots of man, when destruction is his 
object. And I too have calmly permitted the ruin of an in- 
nocent ; who, while I looked and listened to her, I would have 
lost my life to. defend. 

Enter Mrs. Sarsnet. 

Mrs. S. My lady, Sir, desires to know if she may have the 
honour to see you 

Mor. What is the matter now ? I thought your lady had 
gone to her parties. 

Mrs. S. Oh, as to what's the matter, let my lady speak. 
But she'll go to no more parties, not she. It's all out. For, 
my lord, my lady's father, and the whole family have been 
with my lady, and they told her such things, and said such 
things, that all my lady's good spirits forsook her, and she 
swounded outright. Oh, if she would but have followed 
my supercilious advice— but 'tis too late now— all's over. 

Mor. What is over ? 

Mrs. S. I have told my lady often and often, how a gen- 
tleman's proud spirit might be brought down ; but she would 
never listen to my consultation before. 

Mor. Before! 

Mrs. S. For, said I, my lady, you would be as merry as a 
grig, without shamming to laugh, and be gay, if you would 
but pluck up a spirit to take the Earl's advice. 

Mor. You said so ? 

Mrs. S. Yes, I did! I should be no woman, if I would 
not take part with my sect ! So, we are all ready for 
moving; seeing as we are resolved. For, said I, if he should 
fall at my feet, and cry his eye out, I would not hear a 
word. 

Mor. Indeed! 



66 

Mrs. S. Not but I have as tender a heart as another. 
But, then, I would sooner break his heart than my own. 

Mor. What does this insolent gabble mean? 

Mrs. S. Why, it means, that my lady is coming to take 
her leave ; and then we shall begone ; and then it will be 
seen who will have most cause to repent. 

Mor. (aside.) Is it possible? 

Mrs. S. I am sure, if I could have made folks happy, I 
would have done it with all my heart and soul. But the 
secret is out at last, and all is settled. Not but, for all I'm 
so glad, I can't say but I'm sorry in the main! for I'm sure 
some folks will be miserable enough ; and though they richly 
deserve it, one can't help feeling for them in one's heart. And 
so, Sir, as perhaps I shall never see you no more, God bless 
you. [Exit. 

Enter Lady Anne. 

Lady A. I am driven upon an agonizing task, which a too 
painful sense of duty, and your want of confidence, only 
could oblige me to execute. 

Mor. Proceed, madam ; apologies for feeling, or for in- 
flicting pain, are quite unnecessary. 

Lady A. Would it were to be avoided. But you have 
left me no alternative. You have a daughter ? I, it seems, 
have innocently been the cause, that she is disowned and 
abandoned. Of this I cannot knowingly consent to be a 
moment guilty. Our separation is decided to be inevitable. 

Mor. And you support your fate with patience. 

Lady A. Patience ; nay, nay, I do not deserve this re- 
proach. 

Mor. You deserve ? Who shall dare insinuate it f 

Lady A. At this moment when my heart again bursts 
from the bondage in which it has been enthralled, and plays 
the part it was wont to do with my affections, happy days and 
past endearments rush upon my mind with sensations un- 
utterable. As I was, I first won your heart; had I remained 
what I was, time might have recalled it to my power. But I 
find too late that I have wreck'd my own peace at the moment 
that I might have restored yours. 



67 

Mor. {Much moved.) Madam, I — I — I request I may be 
tortured by any thing but your candour. 

Lady A. The total absence of affection o i vour part, 
was sufficient to torture me, and to drive me to every method 
to seek relief. But, to be the cause of banishing a child 
from a father's arms and heart — to cast her an orphan on a 
tempestuous world. No -whatever my other mistakes may 
have been, of that no tongue shall accuse me. 

Mor. Right— Let the guilt be all my own. 

Lady A. And now, I have one last request to make : 
which I conjure you, by all our former affection, not to deny. 
The settlements which you made on me, in our early days 
of love, were ample. In the sincerity of affection, I vowed, 
if ever they should be necessary to your happiness, that 
moment they should again be yours. 

Mor. {Greatly agitated.) Madam? 

Lady A. Nay, nay, I will not be refused. All the first 
years of our union my commands were obeyed ; once more, 
and once only, I exert the prerogative your affection then 
gave me. The deeds are now in Mr. Clement's possession ; 
he will restore them to you. 

Mor. {Indignantly.) Never. 

Lady A. Stop. Beware of rashness \ You are a father, 
and have a father's sacred duties to fulfil. Take home your 
daughter ; make her what amends you can for the desertion 
of a parent's love — derive delight from her innocent lips — 
let it sometimes remind you of those which once smiled 
upon you with such fervent affection. 

Mor. ' lis too much ! Scorpions could not sting like this. 

Lady A. Money is a poor vehicle for the affections Oj* 
the soul, a contemptible token of the love I have borne 
you. But, such as it is, for that love's sake, give it welcome. 
A cold adieu 1 cannot take, it freezes mv very heart. From 
my soul, [ ever loved, and ever shall love. Had I u heaven 
of happiness to bestow, would you but deign to accept it 
from me, it should be yours. [Lxit. 

Mor. Why, so, so, so. It rages, it bursts, it is complete ! 
Let fate or fiends increase the misery, if they can. 



68 

» Enter Winter. 

Wint. Its past, its all over — my fears and forebodings are 
fulfilled. I hae foond her — I hae foond her, I tell ye. 

Mor. Have you ? where ? 

Wint. Now indeed, Jonathan Winter is a rascally go- 
between. {Horror.) But what are you? 

Mor. You say you have found her ? 

Wint. She is gone— she is ruined ! Ye're a wratch ; the 
most miserable o'wratches. 

Mor. Tormenting daemon ! What? Who? Where have 
you been ? 

Wint. To Mrs. Penfold's. 

Mor. {Seized with terror.) Penfold's! What do you say ? 

Wint. I was too late. A maister scoondrel, e'en as wicked 
as her own feyther, had decoyed her into his domn'd net. 

Mor. {Phrenzy.) Decoyed? 

Wint. Lennox, ye'er friend, ye'er crony. 

Mor. {Horror.) From Mrs. Penfold's ? 

Wint. Hav'n't I toud ye ? 
~Mor. Lennox— Joanna ? 

Wint. Yes ; Lennox— Joanna. Let it ring in your ears. 
Joanna, ye'er child; ye'er guileless Joanna. He sent her a 
disguise — She ha* put it on — and the maid do say, ha' gon' 
off with Lennox. 

Mor. {Distractedly.) Misery of hell ! And was that 
Joanna ? That my child ? 

Wint. Celestial creature ! And I the pit-digger. ( Pause- 
despair.) 

Wint. {Alarmed at the agony of Mordent.) Sir, sir, maister ! 

Mor. {Starting.) I almost the pander! Imagination 
paints her, shrieking on the bed of infamy, and chains her in 
the arms of lust— and I, her father, knew it, stood calmlyby, 
and did not prevent it ! {Pause of fixed horror.) 

Wint. Maister, dear maister— Maister Mordent! Dear 
maister Mordent ! Speak ! Ize forgi' ye— Why, maister— Ize 
pray for ye — Ize die for ye— Ize forgi' ye. 

Mor. {Starting from a profound trance of despondency.) 
Fly, summon the servants. Arm yourselves— follow me \ 

Wint. {Confusedly.) William ! Sandy! Jock ! [Exit, calling. 

END OF ACT THE FOURTH. 



69 

ACT V. 

SCENE I.— The Green Park.— (Twilight.) 

Enter Mordent and Lennox. 

Mor. Tell me, and tell me instantly, where you have 
lodged Joanna ? 

hen. Nay, Sir—where have you lodged Joanna? 

Mot. Mr. Lennox, I will not be trifled with— Where 
-is she ? 

hen. Nor will I be trilled with! I have discovered 
you, Mr. Mordent — I have heard of your visit to Mrs* 
Penfold — of that old villain, Item's part in the affair — in 
short, of your whole contrivance. 

Mot. This will not serve, Sir; it is all evasion. 

hen. Ay, Sir, it is evasion! cunning, base, damned 
evasion ! and I aflirm she is in your possession. 

Mor. Mr. Lennox, I am at this moment a determined 
and desperate man, and must be answered — Where is 
she? 

hen. Sir, I am as determined and desperate as yourself> 
Mid I say, where is she ? For you alone can tell. 

Mor. Tis false. 

hen. False! 

Mor. Aye, false ! 

hen. (Going up to him.) He is the falsest of the false, 
t at dares whisper such a word, 

Mor. Hark you, Sir, I understand your meaning, and 
ci trie purposely provided. (Draws a pair of pistols.)— 
T; ke your choice. They are loaded. 

r t en. Oh, with all my heart! ( presents at some dit- 
to* -e). Come, Sir. 

j lor. (approaching sternly. J Nigher ! 
en. (approaching desperately.) As nigh as you please. 

1 or. (Short pause.) Why don't you fire ? 



70 

Len. Why do you turn your weapon out of the line? 
(drops his arm — Pause.) I see your intention, Mr. Mor- 
dent, you are tired of life, and want me to murder you. — 
Damn it, man, that is not treating your friend like a 
friend — kill me if you will, but don't make me your as- 
sassin. 

(Pause — both greatly affected.) 

Mar. (Tenderly.) N.aj, kill me, or tell me where you 
have lodged the wretched girl ! 

Len. (with great energy.) Fiends seize me, if I have 
lodged her any where, or know what is become of her ! 

Mor. Your behaviour tells me you are sincere ; and 
to convince you at once that I am no less so, know she is 
my daughter! 

Len. Your daughter! — murder my friend, and seduce 
his daughter ! 

Mor. (deeply affected.) We are sad fellows! — {They 
pause, and gradually recover from the deep passion ivith 
which they were mutually seized.) Again and again, 'tis 
a vile world! 

Len. .{Eagerly.) Ill seek it through with you, to find 
her. — Forgive me ! 

Mor. {Taking his hand.) Would I could forgive my- 
self! 

Len. [with animation.) But it seems then she has 
escaped, and is perhaps in safety. 

Mor. Oh, that she were ! — Winter used to meet her 

here, in the Green Park, about this time of the evening. 

(Listens.) I hear the sound of feet. (Looks.) Tis not a 

woman. — Let us retire among the trees, and keep on the 

watch. 

While they are seen retiring, 

Enter Cheveril. 

Chev. (Looking round with great anxiety.) She is not 



71 

here! She is gone! for ever gone! — I shall never more 
set eyes on her! — I'll fire that infernal house—I'll fire 
London — I'll pistol Lennox! — I may perambulate here 
till doomsday, and to no purpose. She would have been 
here had she been free. — Aye, aye, she is in thraldom : 
perhaps in the very gripe of vice. Furies! Lennox is 
a liar! — I'll out his throat! — I'll hack him piece-meal ! — 
I'll have her, or I'll have his heart! 

Enter Joanna, in Mens clothes. 
(Cheveril seen walking among the Trees. J 

Joanna. Whither shall I fly? Where shall I hide? 
How fly the pursuits of wicked men ? I have neither 
house, home, nor friend on earth; and the fortitude that 
can patiently endure is my only resource! What then ? 
have I not escaped from those snares which vice had 
spread for me? Oh, happiness! I have! I have! And 
rather than venture in them again, welcome hunger, wel- 
come cold, welcome the bare ground, the biting air, and 
the society of brute beasts! 

Chev. (Advancing.) What can that youth want? — 
Who is he watching here? (Walking round Joanna.) 

Joanna. As J live, the young gentleman I saw this 
morning! what reason can he have for being in this place?. 

Chev. He eyes me with curiosity. 

Joanna. His intentions seemed good. 

Chev. Who can say, he may know her ? He is a smart, 
handsome, dapper fellow : 1 don't like him. 

Joanna. I am not now confined by walls and bolts- 
there can be no danger. — I'll speak -~Pray, Sir • 

Chev. {abruptly.) Well, Sir? 

Joanna. Have you seen a young person ? 

Chev. A Lady ? (Eagerly.) 

Joanna. Yes. 

Chev. [rapidly.) With blue eyes, auburn hair, aquiline 



72 

nose, ivory teeth, carnation lips, ravishing mouth, en- 
chanting neck, a form divine, and an angel face ? 

Joanna. Have you seen her ? 

Chev. Are you acquainted with that lady ? 

Joanna. I am acquainted with a lady, but not an angel. 

Chev. Ah ! then 'tis not her* (Jealous.) Perhaps you 
are her— her lover? 

Joanna. Humph! — I — I love her. 

Chev. You do! (aside) I'll be the death of him! — and 
she loves you ? 

Joanna. Why, yes. 

Chev. [aside.) I'll put an end to him !— Are you mar- 
ried ? 

Joanna. No. 

Chev. You — you mean to marry her? 

Joanna. No. 

Chev. Is she then lost to virtue? 

Joanna. Who dare suppose it ? 

Chev. Ay, who dare ? I'll cut the villain's throat that 
dares ! 

Joanna. She has endured insult, constraint, and vio- 
lence; but not guilt. 

Chev. Guilt? No, not wilful guilt: impossible! but 
then — Is she safe ? Is she safe ? 

Joanna. Disowned by her family, ( exposed to the 
snares of vice, houseless, hopeless, friendless, not daring 
to approach the wicked haunts of men, she wanders for- 
lorn and desolate, willing to suffer, disdaining to 
complain. 

Chev. Tell me where ! — I will rescue, defend, protect, 
cherish, love, adore, and die for her ! 

Joanna, Is your heart pure? — have you no selfish, 
dishonest purposes ? 

Cheo. How came you to imagine, Sir, that I, or any 



73 

other man, durst couple her and dishonesty, even in a 
thought? 

Joanna. Meet me here to-morrow at ten. 

Chev. You! 

Joanna. You shall see her. 

Chev. See her! shall I? 

Joanna. You shall. 

Chev. My dear friend! {Catches her in his arms.) 
make your fortune! — At nine? 

Joanna. Ten. 

Chev. Could I not see her to-night? 

Joanna. To-morrow Joanna will meet you ! 

Chev. Joanna,! Is that her dear name! 

Joanna. It is. 

Chev. Delightful sound!— The sweet Joanna! — The 
divine Joanna! — My heart's best blood is not so precious 
as Joanna! 

Joanna. But, pray where do you live? 

Chev. Joanna! — In Portland Place! 

Joanna. Your name? 

Chev. Joanna! — Cheveril; Hans Cheveril. — Joanna' 
Be sure you don't forget. 

Joanna. I'll be punctual. 

(Mordent appearing among the trees.) 

Who's here? {glides behind.) 

Chev. Joanna! At eight, did you say! W'V 
gone! — Sir, Sir! [Rtins tiffl'seeki 

Mor. I heard the name repeated! ^cthua.) Who 
here that knows Joanna ? 

Joanna. {^Appearing.) I do. 

Mor. S.r, do you ? W~ell, and what? Where? u 
safe ? 

Joanna. I hope so. 

Mor. But where, Sir? where? 



74 

Joanna. (Aside.) 'Tis Mr. Cheveril's guardian, (aloud,) 
Why do you enquire ? 

Mot, For Heaven's sake, Sir, do not torment me by 
delay, but tell me where she is. 

Joanna, I must not. 

Mor. (Seizing her arm.) But, Sir, I say you must, and 
shall! 

Joanna (Firmly.) Sir, you mistake, if you suppose 
menaces can prevail. 

Mor. Excuse me, 1 would give my right hand to know 
what it appears you can tell. 

Joanna. I can tell nothing, till I am first made ac- 
quainted with your true motives. 

Mor. Aaid will you inform me then? 

Joanna. Provided I am certain of their purity. 

Mor. Know, then, that I pant for a sight of her once 
more, to do her the little justice that is yet in my power. 
Know, the wrongs she has received from me are irrepa- 
rable, vile, such as could not have happened, but in this 
worst of worlds! Know, that I, her natural guardian, 
have been her actual persecutor; that I drove her into 
the danger of infamy; that I almost became the agent 
of her ruin, and that when I knew the engines of dark- 
ness and hell were at work to insure her everlasting 
wretchedness, I then discovered (with horror) that she 
was my daughter! 

Joanna. Sir! — your daughter ! — you? you her father? 
you my father ! 
Mor. Yes, I. 

Jo-anna. (Falling at his feet, and snatching his hand. 
My father! . 

Mor. Can it be? my child ! my Joanna! (Eagerly rais- 
ing and regarding her again.) It is! it is ! — (Falling on 
her neck.) 

Joanna. Mv father! 



7^> 

Mor. My child, and innocent? 

Joanna. As your own wishes ; or the word father, 
should never have escaped my lips. This dress was the 
disguise conveyed to me, by which I effected my escape 
— I can suffer any thing but dishonour. 

Mor. A father? Oh, I do not deserve thee !— I do not 
deserve thee ! — {Gazing rapturously.) Once again let rne 
fold thee to my heart ! 

Lennox, (without, at a distance.) Zounds, Sir ! 

Chev. (without.) I insist, Sir ! 

Joanna. I hear voices ! [They retire. 

Enter Cheveril and Lennox. 

Chev. Oh ! for swords, daggers, pistols, blunderbusses, 
and four and twenty pounders. 

Mor. (To Joanna.) This way ! 

[Exeunt Mordent and Joanna. 

Len. Confound your impertinent freaks: they have 
stopped my mouth this half hour. I would have told 
you all I knew instantly, but for your insulting passion. 

Chev. Did not you say, you would not tell me where 
she is ? 

Len. I said, T could not. 

Chev. Why, there now! 

Len. But I suspect I can tell more at present, if you 
will but hear. 

Chev. 'Sdeath, then, why don't you? speak ! why 
don't you, speak ? 

Len. Will you be silent ? I had a glimpse of Mordent 
this moment, in conversation with a youth. 

Chev. Well! 

Len. It was the identical dress I sent as a disguise to 
Joanna. 

Chev. How! 



76 

Len. And I suspect that very youth to be Joanna 
herself. 

Chen. (Recollecting.) Eh ! how ! By heaven, and so it 
is (anger and fear.) In the possession of Mordent? 

Len. Be patient — there is a secret* — his claims super- 
sede all others. 

Chev. His claims! By every power .of heaven and 
hell- 

Len. (catching his arm.) Be patient, I tell you; she is 
his daughter ! 

Chtv. (momentary pause.) Joanna? my sweet Joanna 
his daughter? 

Len. Even so. 

Chev. His daughter? hurrah ! my dear Lennox! (Hugs 
him in his arms.) Hurrah ! (in ecstacy.) Oh, Lord ! Oh, 
Lord ! Hurrah ! his daughter! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! 

Esfcunti, 

SCENE II. 

The Bouse of Mordent. 
Enter Clement and Mrs. Sarsnet. 

Clem. Are you sure it was Mr. Mordent? 

Mrs. S. I tell you, Sir, I was on the watch, and opened 
the door myself. " Take care, my dear," said he to the 
shaa) gentleman-lady, and handed her in lovingly !— The 
monster! My Lady is bewitched! She is fabricated! 
She is . trivetted to the house. I am sure he must have 
nailed an invisible horse-shoe to the threshold. 

Clem. Bui how do you know this pretended youth to 
be a woman ? 

Mrs. S. Did not I hear? I hell the candle full flare 
in her face ; it was a perfect pictaer! I never saw the 



77 

like. So she is to be brought home, truly ! Such mag- 
nanimous impudence ! But I'll go to my Lady. 

Clem, Be cautious; you may do mischief. 

Mrs. S. I don't care; I am resolved to stabilitate and 
confound facts. So, then, having a sufficient dearth of 
proofs, we shall sail off in the charut, and be properly 
received by the Earl, the Viscount, and the Bishop; and 
be isquired into the hall ; and be kissed for joy ; and shall 
swim up stairs into the bosom of the family. \ExiU 

Enter Cheveril, hastily. 

Chev. Dear Clement, have you seen Mr. Mordent ? 

Clem. No : I am in search of him, on affairs of the 
utmost importance. 

Ckev. So am 1. 

Clem. No less than the recovery or total loss of his 
mortgaged lands. 

Chev. Lands ! Damn the filthy acres. Have yon seen 
my Joanna ? 

Clem. I am in great need of advice, and should be glad 
to consult you. 

Chev. Consult ! 'sdeath, man, I am in a hurry; I can- 
not rest till I have found Mordent. 

Clem. Nay, but on the decision of this moment his 
ruin or safety depends. 

Chev. Indeed! if so, my impatience must wait.— 
What is it ? 

Clem. I hear footsteps. This way. {Exeunt. 

Enter Mordent and Joanna. 

Mor. My dear girl, your rare endowments surpasss my 
hopes; and convinced as I am that beauty is destructive, 
and wisdom impotent, I joy to find you thus adorned. 

M 



78 

Joanna. Wait to know me better, I fear you would 
prize me above my worth. 

Mor. How shall I reward it? Fool that lam! mad- 
man that I have been ! 

Joanna, (rapturously kissing his Jiand.) This is my 
rich reward ! 

Mor. I have told you in part my desperate situation. 
If Grime would but give honest evidence. But of that 
there is li':tle hope. 

Joanna. My greatest fear arises from what you have 
said of Lady Anne. — I must not, will not be the cause of 
separation. 

Mor. Let me do her justice; her errors have been of 
my own creation; I have spurned at the kindness I did 
not deserve. Her forbearance at my conduct has been 
my astonishment and my torture. 

Joanna. Oh, that I could see you reconciled! — Oh, 
that I could gain the love of such a lady ! 

Mor. Of that, sweet girl, you are certain. Lennox is 
with her, and by this, she knows your story; and I am 
sure, adores your virtue, 

[Lady Anne without. 

Lady A> Where is she 1 

Mor. I hear her ! 



Enter Lady Anne. 

Lady A. Oh, noble girl ! (Runs and embraces Joanna.) 
Forgive this rude tumult of affection, which I cannot re- 
strain. 

Joanna. Is it possible ? 

Lady A Mr. Mordent, with such a child as this re- 
stored to your arms, and thus restored to yourself, you 
arc a millionfold more dear to me than ever. 



79 

Mor. I cannot bear it! 

Lady A. Will you be my daughter too ?— - Dare ye own 
me for a mother, and find in my heart the affection of 
that one you have lost — Will you ? 

Joanna. Adversity I could endure, but this unhoped- 
for tide of blessings overpowers me. 

Mor. Oh, how I hate myself! 

Lady A. No, no, 'tis not yourself you hate — 'tis that 
life which never emanated from yourself. Be but the 
Mordent who first won my love — exert but the energies 
and feelings of your own heart, and you will find the 
power to be great and good. 

Mor. To be a -I dare not think. 

Lady A. Indeed you are wrong. — Had I not been guil- 
ty of a thousand errors, yon never would have had occa- 
sion for this self-reproach. Like cowards, we both have 
shunned inquiry. Let us be more courageous; let us 
affectionately communicate our mutual mistakes; and, 
while we examine, we shall correct the mind, expand the 
heart, and render ourselves dear to each other, and bene- 
ficent to the whole world. 

Mor, Well, well, I will endure existence a little longer, 
if it be but to hate myself. 

Enter Cheveril, (flying to Joanna). 

Chev. My life ! my soul ! my precious Joanna ! 

Mor. They will persuade me presently that happiness 
is possible. — You have cause, child, to thank Mr. Che- 
veril. 

Joanna. Oh, yes ! he has a heart of the noblest stamp. 

Mor, Ay, every body's right! All angels except myself: 
I am cast into the shade; a kind of demon, grinning in 
the dark. 

Chev. Come, come, guardian, dismiss these sombre 



go 

reflections; they have plagued youioilg enough.— Cle- 
ment is in eager search of you, to communicate secrets of 
the utmost importance concerning his uncle Item. 

Mor. The villain! 

Chev. Yes; I hear him, he is below, half distracte'dy 
foaming with rage, and accusing every servant in the 
house with having stolen his Book. — Pray, keep back, 
my sweet Joanna, but for a moment! And we may 
perhaps, have evidence from his own lips. 

Exeunt. 

Enter Item* 

Item (Looking about eagerly .) Tis gone! 'tis lost! lam 
undone! lam murdered! am betrayed ! I shall be pro- 
secuted, pilloried, fined, cast m damages, obliged to pay 
all, to refund all, to relinquish all! — all — all— all ITU 
hang myself! I'llfdrown myself ! — 1' 11 cut my throat! — 
Mordent has got it! All my secrets, all my projects, all 
my rogueries, past, present, and to come I Oh, that 1 had 
never been born! Oh! that 

Enter Clement 

{Runs up to him.) Have you seen my book? Give it to 
me ! where's my book ? 

Clem. What book? 

Item. My account book ! my secrets — myself! my soul ! 
my heart's blood ; (Seizes Clement's coat-Jap and searches) 
I have it — tis here — I feel it! 

Clem. (Defending himself.) Yes, Sir, 'tis here^-Be pa- 
cified! 

Item. (Assaulting him.) I wont! I wont! I'll have it! 
Give it me ! — 1'il swear a robbery! I'll havejou hanged! 

Clem. (Takes a Booh, sealed up > out of his pocket.)— 



81 

This book, Sir,, I consider as a sacred trust; and part with 
it to you I must not! 

Item. You shall part with it, villain ! You shall ! I'll 
have your soul! — 'tis mine!— I'll have your heart! — 'tis 
mine!— I will have ifc! I will have it ! I will have it! 

[Violently assaulting Mm.'] 
Clem. You shall have my heart, life, and soul first! 

Item. {Falls on his knees.) My dear nephew ! my good 
boy! my kind Clement! I'll supply all your wants! — 
Hi pay all your debts! I'll never deny any thing you 
ask! — I'll make you my heir! — You shall marry my 
patron's daughter ! possess her fortune !— Now give it 
me — I'm sure you will. 

Clem. You are, the agent of Mr. Mordent, whom, I 
fear, you have deeply wronged. I have a painful duty 
to perform, but justice must be obeyed: nothing must 
or shall bribe me to betray an injured man. 

Item, I'll give you ten thousand pounds! — I'll give 
you twenty ! — I'll give you fifty ! — Would you rob and 
ruin your uncle ? — Would you put him in the pillory ? 
Would you see him hanged? [Falls upon him again.) — 
Villain ; — I will have it! — 'Tis mine 1 — I will ! — 1 will ! 
Thieves I — Robbers ! — Murder ! — Fire ! 

Enter Mordent, Lady Anne, Lennox, Grime,, Winter, 
Joanna and Cheveril. 

Mot. [Having received the Book,) I am glad, Mr. Item, 
that your inattention, and your nephew's inflexible ho- 
nesty, have afforded me the means of doing myself jus- 
tice : this is all I require. 

JLen.- Here is a double testimony ; your hand-writing, 
and your agent. 

Item. [To Grime) Have you impeached, then ? 

Grime* I am a villain, a rascal, a cut-throat! 



82 

Mm. You, Mr. Clement — and you, Winter, I know 
not how to repay. 

Joanna. My watchful guide ! my never-failing friend ! 

Chev, "Your hand, old boy ! you and I must settle ac- 
counts. — I am, I know not how, many score pounds a 
year in your debt. 

Mor. What then am 1 ? 

Joanna. And I ? 

Winter. If you wad pay old Jonathan Winter, it mustn't 
be wi' ye'er dirty money-— no— -no; it mun be wi' your 
affections. 

Joanna. True, my noble protector! 

(Kisses his hand with great energy.) 

Winter. Why now, aye, that's a receipt in full; and it 
inaks my heart gf sic a bang as it han't had sin you were 
lost, 

3 for. Honest worthy soul! and now to reconcile « 

Chev. Come, come, make no speeches. — I'll settle the 
business. I am the proper person. — I have eight thou- 
sand a year, and ten thousand in my pocket. Ten! (to 
Item.) Is it ten or seventeen? 

Item. Seventeen ! 

Joanna. What, not a word for your pretty Joanna ?- — 
Not a word, Mr. Item, against the young whipper snap- 
pers, and in favour of persons of your own age ? 

Item, (aside) Entrapp'd — betrayed in every quarter. 
The man whom I rais'd from squalid poverty — the nephew 
whom I have supported — the woman who— ha ! — may 
the curses of Item mingle with their triumph. — (Mordent 
gazes at him — his features turn from malevolence to ob- 
sequiousness.) — Mr. Mordent, don't be too hasty — don't 
condemn me unheard. 

Mor. Away ! serpent— betrayer of my dearest confi- 
dence. I cannot look on thee without horror, when I 



83 

think on what might have been the consequences of 
your villany — away ! 

Item, {looks all round.) Aside — No hopes from subter- 
fuge. — Then, law, I'll try thee — (Looks all round and 
Exit.) 

Chev. Good bye, old Cent per Cent — waddle away like 
a lame duck from the Exchange, leaving behind you 
happiness above par — and roguery at a discount. Len- 
nox, as a Bachelor's penance, shall marry his housemaid. 
You, old Moloch, go hang yourself. Joanna, my Queen 
of the Green Park, you much be my wife. Mordent, 
you must be my father— Lady Anne, you must be my 
half mamma — eight thousand a year shall settle scores 
with Clement and old Honesty here — so away with frowns 
and welcome smiles — smiles that will never be wanting 
while we can reflect them from those where their appear- 
ance is most welcome. 



FINIS. 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
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Treatment Date: March 2009 

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